Cold Feet, Warm Hearts 3 of 12 in a series
by mccoylover
Summary: Picks up months after the end of Excessive Force. Jack and Brooke find themselves with unanswered questions about a friend's shooting and their relationship. A bit of Ed, Anita, Connie,Serena and the new guy, EADA Mike Cutter. As always for fun not profit
1. Miami Mayhem

_This one is for Lynn, who requested another Jack & Brooke story. I can't tell you how flattered I was that you not only wanted another story from me, but that you specifically asked I bring back an original character. Not givin' up the day job, but you sure made me feel good! I hope this one meets with your approval, dear one._

_Time frame is several months after the end of **Excessive Force**. FYI, the steam at the beginning is the reason for the"M" status._

Upon hearing a low moan escape from his lips, she smiled with satisfaction at his obvious pleasure. The sound reminded her of a purr. Brooke Prescott reached across her lover, to the nightstand where the warm bottle of lavender massage oil rested, carefully pouring the some of its contents onto the palm of her left hand.

"More?"

"Hum hum," Jack McCoy murmured as he rolled over to face her. "My body just doesn't respond well to frequent flying."

Prescott returned the bottle to it's place on the night table.

"Trust me," she said as she ran her hands over his shoulders and slowly down his chest. "your body compensates by responding well to other things."

It had been nearly five months since the assistant district attorney for Suffolk county had started her assignment with the Justice Department's Drug Trafficking Task Force, in Miami. Five months - or as McCoy chose to keep track of the time - enough round trip tickets to gain the couple almost unlimited frequent flyer mileage.

McCoy laughed the deep quiet laugh that Prescott had become quite skilled at invoking.

"You think so, counselor," he replied taking her slick hands in his and pressing them tightly to his own.

Once he released her, McCoy ran his hands over her naked breasts, leisurely kneading them, as he began to kiss her shoulder.

After the hectic first month of their long distance romance, the pair had been able to set down a fairly routine schedule to see one another. Prescott flying home to New York three times a month, reimbursed via the expense account that was part of the package she received for work on the task force. McCoy flying to Miami the first weekend of each month reimbursed by Prescott in less tangible, but far more pleasurable ways.

"I know so," she whispered slipping a leg around him to press him closer. She smiled to herself as she felt his hardness against her thigh. "You're sure you're up to this? What about your back ache?"

McCoy smiled down at her, as his hands moved from the softness of her breasts, down her back.

"I have a more pressing ache at the moment," he replied as captured her mouth with his own.

As they began to make love, McCoy thought about how surreal the last several months had been. Their time together had taken on a vacation like feel. The times Prescott came to New York, they split their time between Islip and Manhattan. The weekends together in Florida were spent exploring sight seeing or in her hotelroom, making love like teenagers.

The beauty of the situation was, whoever was doing the air travel had uninterrupted time on the plane to wrap up unfinished business. The person at the other end usually had until nine or ten o clock Friday night to do the same. By the time they connected they were free to focus on each other for the remainder of the weekend. The couple had joked more than once about sending the man responsible for her assignment, a thank you gift. Prescott's old flame, Suffolk county EADA Clint Renard, had unwittingly given the couple a priceless gift.

"Oh God, don't stop," Prescott pleaded as she felt the ecstasy McCoy was so skilled at inducing, wash over her.

McCoy grunted in agreement, unable to speak as he continued to plunge inside of her, stiffening as his body surrendered to her. McCoy could feel the rapid beating of both of their hearts, before he fell back onto the mattress. She turned onto her side and gently licked a few beads of sweat from his still heaving chest. McCoy cleared the strands of auburn hair out of her face gazing down at her as he ran a his other hand over her hips, the subtle possessiveness of the gesture, something Prescott secretly looked forward to every time they were together.

"You are insatiable, woman. Maybe I am a fool to leave you on your own so much," McCoy said as he gazed at her appreciatively.

"Maybe you are," she said playfully. "but then I would be a bigger fool. After all, I'm down here working sixteen hour days with guys with pot bellies and grand children. _You_ on the other hand, you work in an office with beauties like Connie and Kelly, not to mention-"

"Then don't mention them," he teased as he reached across his lover towards the night table. "You know they mean nothing to me, Brooke. You have everything I want, beauty, brains-"

"And twenty four hour room service," she said mischievously grabbing at the room service menu in his hand. "Yeah_, I _know what _you_ want, Mr. McCoy. The only question is will you have it on white or rye this time?"

McCoy held the menu up, out of her reach, as he opened it.

"All these months - how little you know me," he said mockingly. "I always order the corned beef on rye. It's the soup I have a hard time deciding on."

"All the deli's in Manhattan and _you_ come to _Miami_ for the corned beef."

McCoy leaned over her suggestively, as he whispered in her ear.

"Not only for the corned beef, love."

Prescott sat up as she kissed his cheek. Handing him the cordless phone, she looked over his shoulder as he read at the daily specials.

"When you call, get a order of the cherry cobbler a la mode."

McCoy chuckled as he began dialing.

"It's almost midnight, are you sure all that sugar won't make you restless?"

Prescott smirked as she ran a hand through the tousled grey locks.

"I thought you_ liked _it when I was…restless."

"Yes, this is room 874," he said not quite suppressing his chuckle.

Prescott slipped out of his embrace and went into the bathroom as McCoy placed the room service order that had become habit. If his nine pm flight arrived on time, by the time he was knocking on the door of Prescott's hotel room, carry on bag in hand, it was usually nearly ten pm. After a few minutes of welcome banter and occasionally a drink, the pair either fell into bed or the Jacuzzi tub in the bathroom.

Like clock work, by midnight the couple's appetite for food had been aroused. The obligatory airplane meal at seven thirty for McCoy was little more than a snack. A late lunch at four thirty, often with a colleague or two, before they headed home for the weekend was customary for Prescott.

"Brooke, you're sure you just want the cobbler," he called out. Upon hearing an affirmative reply from the bathroom, McCoy shook his head. "Yes, that's all….thank you."

McCoy absentmindedly picked up the remote control and pressed the on button. McCoy went to the closet and slipped on the pair of jeans and tee shirt he had left of the course of his prior visits. As he channel surfed, he perused the pile of brochures and flyers on the small dining table.

"So what do you want to do Saturday," Prescott asked taking her place on the bed, wearing a yellow terry cloth robe for the benefit of the room service staff, a sheer silk night shirt underneath, for McCoy's benefit.

McCoy scooped the pile up and joined her on the bed, leaving the remote on the table.

"Lady's choice" he said as he propped up a pillow and started to watch CNN's national news report.

"Well considering, it's snowing in Manhattan and the high here has been in the low 70's all week, maybe you'd like to do something outside?"

McCoy leered at her and made a suggestive remark. Although he really didn't care what they did, he had to admit after a week of gloves and snowplows, the idea of getting some sunshine was appealing to him.

When the knock at the door came, Prescott was telling him about an afternoon jazz concert scheduled for a near by park.

"Sounds good," he said as Prescott let the waiter inside, signing the room service slip as he quickly set up and closed the door behind him. "although, I figured you might want to hit the antique stores again?"

"The concert starts at two. Maybe we could hit a few stores before the concert," she said taking a bite of the warm dessert. "Humm. Almost as good as mine."

"As yours," he asked as he bit into the corned beef, turning the light weight chair towards the set. "I thought you were born and raised in New York?"

"I was. You forget, I was married to a Southerner. Remember that mint julep I made you last summer? That was only the beginning of the things that good old boy taught me."

McCoy raised an eyebrow, as he grinned back at her, letting her slip a piece of the cherry cobbler in to his mouth.

"You like?"

McCoy nodded as she sat in the chair across from him.

"Maybe if you're nice to me Saturday, I'll make some when I come up next weekend. Could we invite Jake and his new boyfriend over for bunch next Sunday? He always was a sucker for my cobbler."

"You know that's just an excuse so you can meet his mystery man," McCoy countered. "You know you've been curious about this guy since Jake started coming into Manhattan every weekend to see him."

"Your corned beef's getting cold," she said dryly.

Prescott knew he was right. The excitement she saw everytime her assistant spoke about the mysterious civil attorney had peaked her curiousity. In the nearly two decades she had known Jake Cohen, Prescott had only seen him this mesmerized by a love interest once before.

Before he could reply, McCoy's attention abruptly turned to the set. He reached for the remote as Prescott turned to view the screen.

"What's going on?"

"Cutter and Rubirosa where waiting on a verdict when I left this afternoon. Being that this is Mike's first case as my Senior EADA, I've been taking more interest than usual," he replied.

Prescott nodded. She knew McCoy had finally filled the spot that had remained vacant for months after Tracey Kibre had resigned. The anchor was deferring to the reporter in Manhattan who began to reveal details of a shooting in front of a gentlemen's club in Manhattan. McCoy picked up the remote.

"This isn't Mike's case. This-"McCoy froze.

Prescott stared at the screen as the reporter revealed the name of the club and the victim of the shooting.

"… in front of The Townhouse - a prominent Manhattan club - catering to the gay community. On the steps of the elegant Townhouse, Suffolk county assistant district attorney Jacob Cohen, was gunned down as he exited the club with a male companion, just after two a m, local time."


	2. Long flight Home

"Brooke, you really should try to sleep," McCoy said warily.

Prescott stared out the window at the rising sun, shaking her head.

The last six hours had been a blur of phone calls between Manhattan, Islip, and the airlines. Prescott woke the Suffolk county DA Michael Jackowicz, only to find he had less information about the shooting than she had, herself. Jackowicz had notified EADA Clint Renard, who was all ready on his way to Manhattan General.

McCoy called Anita Van Buren at home, only to find she herself, had gone to meet Green and Cassady at the scene. By the time Van Buren returned his call, the pair were dashing through the Nashville airport, trying to made their final connection to return to Manhattan. Van Buren informed him while they didn't have the shooter, Cohen was still alive when he was taken to Manhattan General, suffering from a gun shot fired at close range to the chest. As soon as they had more, Van Buren promised she or Green would call him.

Prescott cried tears of relief when he told her that her best friend and assistant was still alive. She accepted McCoy's assurances that the case was being handled by Van Buren's best officers, remembering Detectives Green and Cassady from the Hawthorne case of months earlier.

McCoy moved the arm rest up and put his arm around her shoulders.

"Come on honey," he said quietly as she gently pulled her close. "You're going to need to be strong and alert for Jake when we get home. You know he's going to want to talk to you."

Prescott looked at him with blood shot eyes. He had seen her disheveled and sleepless before - especially during the time she had been on trial for the wrongful death of Samantha Weaver - but this was the first time he'd seen her hit this hard.

It was as if she'd aged decades in the last few hours. The fine lines on her make up free face were more prominent, her face more drawn. It was as if Prescott had all ready begun mourning her beloved friend.

"A bullet in the chest at close range…we both know what that means," she said hoarsely. "We've both read that description on too many autopsy reports not to-"

"Brooke, he was still alive when we got on the plane at 5:00 in Nashville," McCoy said urgently. "It's been several hours since he was shot and he's still fighting. It's a good sign, Brooke."

Prescott sighed as she tried to his arms. She knew Jack McCoy wasn't one to sugar coat the truth. For him, to offer any kind of hope that Cohen would be alive when they arrived, meant their was a real chance Cohen would at least make it until they arrived.

"You're right. That is a good sign. Thank you for that, Jack."

"Brooke, you know how I feel about Jake."

McCoy could feel the nod as she settled in and her eye lids began to fall. How he hoped he was right. Not just for Prescott's sake, but his own. In the time he'd been seeing the Suffolk county ADA, McCoy had become quite fond of her wisecracking buddy. The two men had spent several weekends in the late summer, fishing off the pier. Cohen had given McCoy invaluable insight into the new woman in his life, a sign of Cohen's trust in him that McCoy hadn't forgotten.

As his lover slept, McCoy asked himself the question Prescott was too frantic to ask herself: Who would want Jake Cohen dead? A former defendant? A former lover? Or was it someone whose motives were more hateful than that? McCoy had handled enough cases connected to gay bashing that he knew the possibility was more than likely.

Although he knew the political fall out that could be directed towards himself and his office if he was right, once the case was ready for trial, but that wasn't even a priority for the new DA. McCoy's first priority was making sure Van Buren and her detectives had the support and the resources to find the evidence to help him convict Cohen's attacker.


	3. The New Mrs Jack McCoy

It was nearly eight a m eastern standard time when the pair entered the ICU at Manhattan General Hospital. Once they pushed their way past the barrage of reporters, they were met by a hospital security guard, who escorted them to the ICU. As they stood in the elevator, McCoy noticed the look of hesitation on Prescott's face. He caught her eye as he raised an eyebrow.

Prescott glanced at the security guard as she embraced McCoy, her lips touching an ear.

"I may have to do some fast talking…if I sound a little crazy…back me up?"

McCoy kissed her cheek, giving her a slight nod as the doors opened.

When they arrived, Detective Ed Green, Suffolk county EADA Clint Renard, and were listening intently to chef surgeon Dr. Milton Carpenter who was filling the men in on Cohen's condition.

"…during surgery we were able to ascertain the bullet went through the upper left quadrant of Mr. Cohen's chest without damage being done to any vital organs. Another inch and the outcome would have been fatal. The bullet did however, cause severe internal bleeding, which is why Mr. Cohen is in such a weakened state…"

"Will he fully cover," Prescott asked expectantly.

"And you are?"

"I'm Mr. Cohen's sister, Brooke McCoy," she said evenly, her eyes glued to the doctor. "When can I see my brother?"

"I'm sorry Mrs. McCoy, but before I can let you in, I need to see some identification."

McCoy looked down at his shoes, as the other two men turned away in disbelief. Prescott went through what he assumed, were the motions to get what she wanted, McCoy readied himself for the unexpected role he was about to play

"My brother and I had different fathers," she said handing the doctor her driver's license. "my license is in my maiden name, Prescott. However, my husband is the District Attorney -"

The doctor raised his eyebrow's skeptically, having seen too many shams tried by friends and lovers of his gay patients to get around the 'blood relatives only' rules that applied in the ICU.

"You're the District Attorney," Carpenter asked as Renard listened carefully.

"I am," McCoy said calmly getting out his badge and ID. "You haven't answered either of Brooke's questions, doctor. What are Jake's chances and when can she see him?"

The doctor returned the ID to McCoy, as he shook his head.

"With the amount of blood loss that's occurred, I don't want to be overly optimistic," the doctor said carefully. "We should know something definite in the next 24 to 48 hours. Mrs. McCoy, if you'll come with me, you can see your brother now. But, just for a few minutes."

Prescott nodded, looking gratefully at the group, as the doctor opened the door.

As the pair disappeared, Clint Renard looked McCoy up and down.

"It's one thing to back her up to get her into see Jake. But do you really think you're doing either of them any good helping her compound one lie with another ?"

McCoy met the other man's accusing stare and said defiantly, "What makes you think I did that?"

Green couldn't suppress his snicker as he realized what McCoy was up to.

"Because she's _not_ your wife," Renard quietly snapped, in a tone that asked the unspoken question.

McCoy shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

"It's Brookes place to discuss the nature of our relationship with you, not mine. However, I will tell you this," McCoy said with a sly smile. "The time you arranged for her to spend in Florida really opened both our eyes to what is and isn't important in a relationship. We've both been meaning to thank you, Clint."

Renard glared at McCoy, trying to hide his reaction to McCoy's response.

"I know for a _fact _Brooke _isn't _Jake's sister," he stubbornly replied. "You as much as lied to that doctor and-"

"If you'll recall Mr. Renard, I simply confirmed a fact. I _am _the District Attorney. Any assumptions that Dr. Carpenter made are just that, assumptions, as I'm sure Detective Green will agree."

Having spent the better part of the last three hours being grilled by the EADA, Green was prepared to give McCoy the backing he sought.

"You told me yourself Mr. Renard, that Mr. Cohen has given the lady power of attorney, I doubt my commanding officer would be happy of I arrested either one of them for doing something that once a trip to a safety deposit box is made, would have been perfectly legal."

"Besides Renard, I don't see any next of kin here. You're the man's supervisor. What did this family say when you contacted them?"

Renard glared at McCoy, knowing full well Prescott had probably told McCoy that Cohen's family had written him off the day he had publicly acknowledged his sexual preference. Renard's face reddened, not because he was losing patience bantering with the DA, but because of the anger he felt when he recalled the indifference Cohen's sister had expressed when he had spoken to her hours before.

"I need to talk to Brooke when she's done. Tell her I'll wait for her in the cafeteria," he said turning on his heel.

McCoy nodded, as he faced the grinning detective.

"Thanks, detective."

Ed Green shrugged his shoulders.

"It was worth keeping quiet to see the look on your face when she said it. Don't worry, Jack. Only another single man could have caught the flash of terror in your eyes," he said with a chuckle. "The Doc was too busy with the ID's to notice and Mrs. P-,"Green paused seeing an orderly round the corner. "Well _Brooke,_ strikes me as a lady that isn't anyone's fool. Not even yours."

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"Did you like trying it on," the translucent lips whispered.

Prescott held the ice cold hand, desperately trying to hide her alarm at seeing her dearest friend laying with tubes and IV's running through his ashen body.

"What,"she whispered, taken off guard by the sound of his voice.

Jake Cohen looked up into the blood shot eyes, his weak smile fading.

"The name…to cut the red tape...to get in here so fast...unless you walk around with my power of attorney glued inside your bra, you must have used Jack's-"

"Yes, yes, "she said quickly realizing what he meant and fearing he would use the little energy he had up, trying to jog her memory.

She remembered the plan he reviewed with her the day he gave her full power of attorney. The warning that if she didn't have the paperwork on her person, she would have to convince the authorities they were blood relatives. The quickest way being, to have the man in her life confirm the name difference was due to martial status. An especially neat and easy trick when she was married to a federal prosecutor who could easily intimidate an emergency room doctor or floor nurse into compliance. A farce almost as easily pulled off as the girlfriend the District Attorney/

Cohen's nodded with relief, knowing his biggest fear: Having his life controlled by a sister who he hadn't spoken to in more than a decade, would not be realized. .

"You like being Mrs. Jack McCoy," Cohen breathed, managing a wink.

"_Jacob Aaron Cohen_" she said exasperated, as the prosecutor in her over rode the friend. "This isn't a _game_. We don't have much time. Who did this to you and why?"

Cohen started to reply a gasped. As he struggled to catch his breath, he could see the fear in her eyes and nodded carefully.

In all honesty, Cohen was terrified himself. The shooting itself a blank in his mind, the shearing pain in his chest, just below his heart his only recollection of how he ended up in ICU.

"Can't help, sweetie," he breathed. "Can't remember yet. Sorry… Did William…did he.."

Prescott shook her head. William Marshall was the dream come true Cohen had met several weeks earlier at The Townhouse. The only things she knew about the new man in Cohen's life were that he was a attorney for a prominant Park Avenue firm, that he was about Cohen's age, and that he had arrived in Manhattan shortly before the two had met.

"Detective Green tells me William is fine. William left before I arrived. I'll get his number from Green and let him know how you are."

Cohen nodded slightly, clearly relived to know his lover was safe.

"You look like hell Brooke," he said making another attempt at humor. "What's Casanova been doing to you?"

Prescott squeezed his hand as a tear ran down her cheek.

"This is what you get when you scare me out of bed at midnight and make me fly back with connections all over the east coast to check on your sorry ass," she stammered as she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of McCoy's NYU sweatshirt, she had thrown over her nightshirt. "Maybe next time I leave town you'll show me more consideration."

"Sorry darlin', "Cohen said as he looked past her.

Prescott looked up as a familiar hand squeezed her shoulder.

"How's my favorite brother in law," McCoy asked ironically. "You really blew it, Jake. Sis and I were going to have you out to my place next weekend for Brooke's cherry cobbler."

"Brooke's cobbler? Yum. Don't count me out yet, Jack," Cohen replied as he closed his eyes.

McCoy turned back to Prescott and smiled.

"How are you holding up, Mrs. McCoy?"

"Better than he is," she replied. "I owe you for not giving me away. Thanks, Jack."

McCoy shook his head dismissively.

"Green wasn't able to get much out of him when they brought him in. Did you have any luck?"

"The only thing he told me was he was with William Marshall. He doesn't remember anything about the shooting, Jack."

"Not surprised. Maybe in a few days," he said softly.

Prescott waited until she was sure Cohen had gone to sleep before motioning for McCoy to bend down. She pressed her lips to his ears as she asked with acidity that made his ear hot.

"And where the hell _is _he?"

McCoy stepped back, looking at her with confusion.

"Where is the son of a bitch that left Jake to die on the steps of a god damned club? Where is William Marshall?"


	4. Breakfast With Ed

McCoy caught the buzzer on the first ring, fearing Prescott would wake up from the nap he had finally gotten her to agree to take.

After Prescott met briefly with Renard, she and McCoy had taken an exausted Ed Green to breakfast to hear the specifics of what the detective and his partner had learned about the shooting. McCoy had encouraged Prescott to take a cab to his apartment. He had promised to bring her up to speed as soon as he joined her, hoping she would get the rest she so obviously needed. But Prescott insisted on staying to hear what Green had to say.

"If Detective Green is willing to give us some of his Saturday after working through the night," she countered. "It's only common courtesy for both of to stay and hear what he has to say."

McCoy had opened his mouth to continue the debate when Green returned from the buffet table, his plate full of items ranging from ham to half a calzone.

"Haven't eaten since lunch yesterday," he explained.

McCoy waited until the waitress had finished filing the three coffee cups before prompting the detective.

"According to CNN the shooting took place outside the club?"

Green nodded as he ate.

"Shortly after two. The doorman saw a black sedan pull up shortly before the shots rang out. Apparently the gun man waited until Cohen was almost to the street before opening fire - three shots - Browning semi automatic," Green paused as Prescott rubbed her forehead, noting the stricken look on her face.

He looked at McCoy, who nodded as he rubbed her shoulders.

"So you have a shooter and a driver," McCoy asked. "Any witnesses able to make an ID on either of them?"

"Afraid not. Both appeared to be male - judging by their build - but they wore ski masks and were covered in black. ID is going to be tough. We've got a partial on the plates, though. DMV's running it. Should have a list before noon."

"What about his companion," Prescott interjected. "Did Marshall stick around to give a statement?"

Green washed down the last of his omelet with some coffee, shaking his head.

"When we arrived, the ambulance had arrived. Marshall was gone. The bartender told us Mr. Cohen had left the club with anothetr man. Until Mrs. Prescott mentioned this Marshall, the only thing we knew bout him was what was on the business card out we found in Mr. Cohen's coat."

Prescott swore quietly with such venom, both men stared at each other in disbelief.

"The home address bogus," she asked ignoring their looks.

"You've got it," Green admitted. "Nina's working on locating him now."

"Detective-"

"Please, I've been off duty since six this morning. It's Ed."

"Then I don't want to hear another 'Mrs. Prescott' Ed," Prescott began, smiling back at the detective. "Will homicide be seeing this case through, whether or not…if Jake stays in his present condition?"

"We caught the case. We will keep the case," he assured her. "Besides, the media doesn't know it yet, but there was a homicide, as well. Mr. Cohen caught a bullet. Another appears to have been a miss - CSI found it lodged in the lamppost right outside the club - but the third bullet hit the night watchman. The watchman had been behind Mr. Cohen. Apparently, he had left his wallet on the bar and the bartender sent him out to give it to Cohen."

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McCoy was half way out his apartment door when Prescott called his name. Leaning back into the living room, he saw the slender figure, still wearing his NYU sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, coming towards him. As annoyed as he was that her sleep had been disturbed, McCoy couldn't help but smile at the sight of his lover. A woman who was usually so careful about her appearance, who at that moment reminded him of a college freshamn who was craming for midterms.

"I heard the buzzer. Where are you going?"

McCoy let out a breath.

"Renard's downstairs with Jake's power of attorney. Go back to bed and I'll-"

Prescott smirked as she shook her head.

"You could use a nap yourself," she said taking the keys from his hand as she kissed him quickly on the lips. "I can handle Clint."

"But-"

Prescott ruffled the already disheveled grey locks as she continued passed him.

"Keep arguing and no cobbler later," she warned as she pressed the elevator button.

Prescott was considering making a quick run to the corner market, as she counted the paper money she had stuffed in the pocket of her jeans. Even before she heard the buzzer, she knew she was too restless to sleep. She needed something to take her mind off the events of the last several hours, and baking seemed like a good distraction. When the elevator doors opened she looked up from her counting to find a startled Clint Renard.

"I was told you couldn't be disturbed."

"Yeah, well… I heard the buzzer," she said as they walked towards the sofa in the lobby of McCoy's building. "Thanks for going back to Islip and getting the paperwork for Jake. Did you have any trouble finding it?"

Renard handed her the manila envelope and her key ring.

"I have a knack for following simple directions," he replied with smile. "No problem at all. I took the liberty of sticking the stack of mail I found on the dining room table in, as well."

"Great, great," she muttered as she scanned the contents of the envelope, assuring herself the necessary papers were enclosed. "I would have never stayed awake on the train. You're a life saver, Clint."

The EADA's face brightened as the sat down on the sofa.

"Anything new on Jake?"

"Not that I've heard. Jack and I spent some time with Detective Green after you left. Then we went back to the hospital and Jake was asleep. Nothing to do but wait. Listen, Jake's been second chairing for you while I've been down in Florida - did he say anything to you about this Marshall guy he hooked up with last month?"

Renard leaned back and rubbed his head. Instinctively, he wanted to tell her to leave the detecting to the detectives. But the fact she was willing to go beyond the usual thirty second time limit Prescott had unofficially imposed on any conversation between them that did not relate directly to business since their love affair abruptly ended years before, took Renard off guard.

"Cohen and I never have had more than a professional relationship, Brooke. He wouldn't discuss his personal life with me. But, you might call Tazleem and see what she says. She and Jake have lunch together most days they aren't in court. He may have said something to her, since you haven't been available."

Renard waited for the caustic come back that never came.

"I forgot about Taz - that's a good idea Clint. Thanks," she said as she stood up.

"What - you're going to pass up the chance to rib me for sending you to Florida? You _must _be exhausted."

Prescott smiled as they walked towards the revolving door.

"Actually, I've been meaning to thank you. Being away so much... let's just say it's put a lot of things in presepective. Besides, I _did_ agree to go."

Renard did a double take remembering McCoy's words, and suddenly fearing what he deemed, as the worst.

"Yeah, McCoy said the same thing," he said thoughtfully. "I noticed you didn't ask me to pick up any clothes for you from the house. You must have packed in record time in Miami."

"Actually, I just threw a few things into my briefcase and Jack's overnight bag. Didn't really have time to do much else.Hey, that reminds me. About Miami, any chance you can let me off the hook until we know Jake's out of danger? I can work via email for the next few days from here, if you clear it. If he takes a turn for the worst, if - "

"I already talked to Jackowitz. Just email Danvers in Miami and keep him posted. We may need you to come in to take over the cases ready for trial on Jake's calendar," Renard said as they started through the door to the street. "You're not going back up?"

Prescott shook her head.

"We weren't planning on being in town this weekend. The cupboard's are bare - I need to make a run to the store for dinner and ingredients for cobbler,"Prescott said shaking her head in disbelief."Gosh, listen to me - I sound like an old married lady, when the reality is-"

"My God -"Renard sputtered horiffied, before he could stop himself." It's _true! _You married him, didn't you Brooke?"


	5. Homemade, Never Out of a Can

McCoy opened his eyes to find the living room dimly lit by the florescent light coming from the adjoining kitchen. He stood and stretched, his eyes widening as he glanced at the grandfather clock that stood at the opposite end of the room. After visiting the bathroom, he followed the smell of baked cherries. He found a baking dish resting on the counter and Prescott standing over the stove, stirring the contents of a saucepan.

"I thought _I_ was taking care of _you_ tonight," he said as he picked up a fork and leaned across the counter toward the baking dish. "You should have woken me up when you came in. Any word on Jake?"

"I called to check on him about an hour ago. He's been stable all afternoon," she said as she lightly smacked his hand.

"I said I'd bake for you, if you were nice to me. Making up stories, isn't something I consider, a nice thing to do."

"Making up …,"McCoy's eyes suddenly registered comprehension. "Renard. I never said-"

"Don't play the ignorant Mick with me Jack McCoy - a lie by omission is still as lie. What the hell were you thinking," she said in a tone that reminded him of his grandmother.

"You started it," he said with exaggerated poutiness, making another jab with the fork at the cobbler - this time not receiving any interference. "_You_ told the doctor we were married - can I help if that idiot took-"

Prescott gave him a withering stare as she turned the gas off the burner and removed the pan of soup.

"John James McCoy," she said, too weary herself to notice how his jaw automatically tightened. "You know good and well you just wanted to yank the man's chain."

McCoy moved behind her to the refrigerator and began pouring himself a glass of milk, using the time to try to hide his discomfort.

"I'm sure you set him straight."

He heard her laugh quietly and turned to face her.

"Don't be so sure. I said it wasn't _nice_ to yank Clint's chain. I didn't say it wasn't amusing," she said shrewdly, as she opened a cabinet to remove two soup bowls. "Thought you might be hungry so I made some vegetable soup. I had to use the ready made stock, but it's still not too bad."

Prescott looked up as she finished filling the bowls and frowned at the expression on his face.

"Jack, what is it?"

"Nothing, just not overly fond of my full name," he said as he took the bowls of soup to the kitchen table. "So what did you tell old Clint?"

"Really? Good Irish name - simple, yet strong - very you," she began playfully.

"It was my father's name," he said with coldness that didn't escape her notice. "That's reason enough not to like it."

Prescott sat down beside him at the table. She knew McCoy to be vague regarding his family in Chicago, to the point of being down right evasive, the few times conversation had turned to questions about his childhood. She reached up and carefully moved the pushed back the hair hiding his eyes.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

McCoy shook his head as he tasted the soup.

"Maybe another night. When Jake's on the mend and we're not exhausted. This is great."

"Now I _know_ this subject is off limits," she replied good naturedly. "Even I know this stuff is adequate at best. But, it's as good as it gets on short notice. Maybe the cobbler will make up for it."

McCoy nodded as he ate, appreciating the effort she had made. But at the same time, remembering a night his mother had been foolish enough to attempt to place soup made the same way on his father's table. The dear price she paid in blood and bruises, for putting a soup made with less than homemade broth on the table of John James McCoy Senior…

McCoy stood up and unexpectedly kissed Prescott full on the lips.

"Let me take you to bed," he whispered, moving the bowl away.

Prescott smiled up as she touched his cheek, stroking the stubble that was his five o'clock shadow.

"Soup so bad you lost your appetite?"

"On the contrary," he said as he ran a hand inside the sweatshirt. " I'm suddenly ravenous."

Prescott stood, slipping out of his embrace, with the bowls. After setting them in the sink, she rubbed his shoulders as she kissed him lightly on the lips.

"I'm sorry darlin' but once my head hit's the pillow, I'm afraid I'll be out like a light," she said apologetically. "Forgive me?"

McCoy sighed as shook his head, trying to rid himself of what he knew was an unreasonable sense of mounting annoyance.

"Nothing to forgive. After the day we've had, more than understandable," he said turning away from her, picking up the fork that lay beside the baking dish.

"Listen, I'm going to take a quick shower. Then I'll clean up in here and meet you in the bedroom, okay?"

"You cooked - I'll clean up in here while your shower," he said as he took another bite of the cobbler. "Now this…this is amazing."

Prescott gave him a quizzical look as she reached up to kiss him.

"Are you sure you're all right? Jack, You seem really tense."

McCoy looked at her with uncertainty, knowing this wasn't the time to dwell on anything but sleep and the health of the man laying in ICU. He also knew Prescott well enough to know if he didn't admit something was on his mind, she wasn't going to stop asking questions.

"Honestly," he said picking up the pan of soup. "You might not like what I have to say."

Prescott's eyes widened in surprise.

"Come on Jack. You know I can dish it out on occasion, I certainly can take whatever's on your mind - just spit it out."

McCoy unceremoniously turned the pan upside down over the sink.

"That really was God awful. Mind if we start fresh in the morning?"


	6. Meet the New Guy

_Well the honeymoon couldn't last forever_, he thought as the elevator doors closed. After months of a blissfully smooth and conflict free relationship, McCoy's unceremonious pronouncement the night before, had resulted in the temperature in his apartment going from inviting warm to frigid, in a matter of seconds. McCoy shuddered as he thought of the look on his lover's face before she had turned on her heel and headed towards the bathroom, where she spent the next 45 minutes.

When Prescott did finally come to bed, McCoy had the good sense to keep his eyes and mouth closed.

The next morning, he had slipped out of the apartment and headed for the sanctuary of the building on Hogan Place. Leaving a note asking Prescott to call him if there was any news on Jake Cohen, he kept the explanation for his absence brief, stating a desire to give her room to take care of the business he knew she had and the desire to use his unexpected time in Manhattan to clear his own desk.

He knew she'd want answers when he returned. Maybe after some time alone, he would have a few answers for himself as to why after being dead more than twenty years, the mere mention of his father's name still brought McCoy far vividly back to a time and place he had tried so hard not to remember.

McCoy swallowed the last of the coffee he had bought in between the cab ride and the front door of the building as the elevator doors opened. McCoy nearly chocked, as the new EADA stepped forward.

"Mike?"

"Jack," the younger man sputtered, stepping a step back to literally get out of the face of his boss. "I didn't expect…I thought you were out of town?"

McCoy stepped out of the elevator, holding the door open for the latest edition to the executive board.

"Change in plans. Mike, I know you want to make a good impression, but even God rested on Sunday."

Cutter gave his boss a knowing smile.

"If that's the case, I'm even more surprised to see _you_ here," he teased.

McCoy shrugged.

"I meant to call you last night. Congratulations on the Kendall verdict. You and Connie went above and beyond."

Cutter moved into the elevator as he nodded.

Michael Cutter had been a fan of Jack McCoy's since before beginning his own career in the DA's office. McCoy's well documented exploits, that included a reputation for flirting dangerously close with the wrong side of the ethics line in the name of seeking justice, was one of the main factors that swayed a young Michael Cutter to pursue criminal law, nearly twenty years earlier. He still couldn't believe that he not only worked with Jack McCoy, but was assigned McCoy's former office when he was promoted to the man's previous position.

"Thanks, but Connie does such a great job with the ground work, the trial work comes easy."

McCoy nodded in agreement, remembering a time not too long before, when he and Rubirosa were a team.

"Enjoy her while you can," he warned. "Assistants tend to come and go in Major Felonies - especially the ones assigned to that particular office."

Cutter chuckled, well aware of McCoy's track record with assistants.

"Listen Jack, I was just going to run down to the car for a file. I'd like to talk to you about the Cohen shooting - I assume when the 2 7 has as suspect I'll catch the case? Are you going to be around a while?"

McCoy nodded as the doors closed. He sighed as he thought about the last time he'd seen Jake Cohen. Praying the indictment would read attempted murder and not murder one.

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Prescott had taken another bite of the cherry cobbler, crumpling up the note when her cell phone began to ring. Her plans for coffee and a slice of toast changed when she found the note on the kitchen counter and realized McCoy had managed to slip out on her while she slept.

_Like I **need** grief about** soup**, when my best friend is laying ICU_, she thought irratably as she ate. _To top it off, Mr. Senistivity pulls a disappearing act as well?_ _... Not like Jack, at all... What is it that I'm not seeing..._

When her phone began to ring, Prescott choked down a bite of comfort food. She grabbed the phone from her purse on the coffee table. Noting the phone number of the incoming call, she instinctively grabbed the purse and one of McCoy's jackets from the closet as she answered the call.

Ed Green met her outside IUC twenty minutes later with Dr. Carpenter who glared, as he read the power of attorney she handed him.

"After what you pulled yesterday Mrs. McCoy? Prescott? Who ever you are today, why would I believe anything you say?"

"Listen," Prescott said in a tone that made any other action impossible, slapping her ADA ID into the doctors already full hands. "You can take my methods up with your legal department Monday. Right now, you are dealing with not only Jake's legal guardian, but an officer of the court, as well as an NYPD detective. Mr. Cohen has requested a meeting with myself and Detective Green. If you continue to interfere, I will have you arrested for obstruction here and now - so either get out of my way or hold out your hands so Detective Green can cuff you."

Green stepped between the two, seeing the doctor's face redden and Prescott's tighten her jaw.

"Doctor, you did said Mr. Cohen asked for both of us. If he was able to ask for us, isn't that a sign he is improving or at least stable?"

Carpenter turned his glare to Green, relaxing somewhat as he pondered the detectives remarks.

"All right detective. But my rules. Masks and gloves for both of you, a nurse in the room for the ten minutes you get - if you agitate him in any way you are done - whether you charge me or not."

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"Beautiful! Where have you been all my life," Cohen asked in a breathy whisper.

Prescott met Green's amused glance and nudged him.

"Don't look at me, detective. He's talking to _you_," she said as she gave Cohen's hand a mock slap. "Behave yourself, lover boy. We have ten minutes. Besides, you're spoken for."

"About that," Cohen replied carefully. "You need to know…."

Cohen directed his gaze toward Green. Cohen's face instantly serious. His comments free of banter.

"I know you're looking for…you need a statement from William."

"Another man died Mr. Cohen. Your friend might have seen something that can help us find the shooter. Can you help me, Mr. Cohen?"

Cohen gave a careful nod and replied with a single word.

"Southerlyn."


	7. The Return of a Former Assistant

"Right now my best guess at charges would be murder two for the death of the night watchman, attempted murder of a public official, and more than likely, conspiracy."

"So you do think Cohen was the target?"

McCoy sat back in his chair and nodded at EADA Cutter.

"A prosecutor gets shot by chance? Possible, but unlikely. As much as I hate to say it - whether it was a defendant or a gay basher - someone wanted Jake dead."

Cutter looked at McCoy curiously, surprised by the use of the victims first name.

"Is there a personal connection, Jack?"

McCoy was pleased to see his instincts had been right about Cutter. He met the curious eyes with a poker face.

"When ever a prosecutor becomes a victim it's personal, isn't it Mike," he said flatly.

"I understand that. I just thought-"

"Jake is Brooke's assistant in the Suffolk office."

Cutter nodded, remembering the auburn haired woman who had attended the gathering at Flynn's with McCoy, to celebrate Cutter's appointment to the EADA position.

"She must be a wreck - it's natural to become involved with one's assistant," he said regretting it the moment the words were out of his mouth.

McCoy gave him a crooked smile as the famous eyebrows raised.

"Speaking from word of mouth or personal practice," McCoy countered."This office will not tolerate sexual harrassment, Mr. Cutter."

Cutter smiled back, knowing he and McCoy were cut from the same cloth.

"Jack, I've never had a complaint filed against me and I never will. I respect women - in general - especially the ones I work with. I follow the rules of standard practice in this office - those relationships were mutually consented to."

McCoy chuckled at Cutter, as the phone on the desk rang.

"Yes Fred," McCoy inquired - knowing the call could only be a in house

call so early on a Sunday. "Well that's a surprise - send her up."

McCoy looked back at Cutter and replied incongruously, "Well, it I know a person who would debate the possibility of a relationship like you just described being mutual. I think the words she used were...'unequal balance of power'."

Cutter leaned back in his chair, intrigued.

"A friend or foe?"

"A former assistant - Serena Southerlyn is on her way up."

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After returning McCoy's warm embrace, the gorgeous blonde extended her hand as McCoy introduced Serena Southerlyn to Michael Cutter. McCoy's pleasure at seeing his former assistant evident by the joyful grin on his face.

"It's a pleasure to meet the man that's filling Jack's shoes now."

"The pleasure's mine, Ms. Southerlyn. I may have Jack's position, but I don't think there's an attorney in practice that can begin to fill his shoes," Cutter replied as he moved towards the door. "I still have some unpacking to do before Connie comes in at ten - again a pleasure."

"Well," Southerlyn said as the door closed. "He's smooth - I'll give him that."

McCoy pulled a chair out for her as he returned to his seat behind the desk.

"He's smooth in the courtroom, as well. Mike pulled off a guilty verdict in the Kendall case. As I recall, you were never one to be out before noon on a Sunday morning - to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Southerlyn smiled the smile that had always melted his heart - although she never knew it. McCoy had been sorry to see Southerlyn leave, especially under the circumstances surrounding her departure from the DA's office. One of the few assistants he'd had that stayed with him more than a year or two, Southerlyn's honesty and idealistic nature had made McCoy especially protective of her.

In the time that she had been away from the DA's office, McCoy had been pleased to see she had landed on her feet. Eventually, she had opened a general practice on the lower Westside. While she was handled mostly civil cases involving discrimination against the gay community, on occasion one of McCoy's EADA's had found themselves going up against Southerlyn in criminal court.

Southerlyn's smile disappeared as she replied.

"I was hoping you could fill me in on what's happening with Jake Cohen. I was out of town on a case until late last night - I didn't hear about the shooting until I played my machine back this morning. Jack, how bad is he?"

"He was shot in the chest at close range - a miracle no vital organs were hit. He's in IUC at Manhattan General, but they're only letting family in to see him."

Southerlyn frowned.

"Then Jake's going to be awfully lonely. When we were working on the 4th of July celebration last year, Jake told me about his family," she said with a sigh.

"Not exactly enlightened when it comes to sexual preference?"

"Hardly. It's bad enough when you experience intolerance other places, but when it's in your own family…"

McCoy watched as Southerlyn shifted her glance uncomfortably from him to the window behind him.

"Serena, you know how I felt about Arthur's decision - but we both know it had nothing to do with your sexual orientation."

Southeryn stared at her former supervisor for a moment, studying the dark eyes she had learned to read so well. Sitting in his new office - the one Arthur Branch had formerly occupied. Even though it was years after the fact, Southeryn could still remember the scene word for word...

Even when she confronted Branch, she still wasn't quite sure whether he had been completely honest when he denied her firing had anything to do with Southeryn being a lesbian.

"What I know is, I was blind sided that night and when it was over you were no where to be found. It's a sad night when Jack McCoy isn't in his office or on a barstool," she said turning her gaze back to McCoy.

" I honestly thought you saw the signs - there were enough of them," he said bluntly. "Serena how many times did I tell you, ease up on the politics and focus on the prosecutions? How many silent warnings did I give after hours, when the three of us sat in his office? It's one thing to play devils advocate with me - but with Arthur? A different animal all together."

"So all I had to do to keep my job was to be deaf, dumb, and blind," she said sarcastically. "Come on Jack - how long would you have lasted around here if you'd had to work under those conditions?"

"I learned to choose my battles long ago."

"Choosing your battles isn't the something as being an ostrich," she pressed.

McCoy let out a heavy sigh as he shook his head_. Almost three years, and nothing's changed, _he thought as he tapped his fingers on the desk.

"Come on Jack - when the last time you held your tongue? With anyone?"

_Last night, _he thought as he gave into his guilt. Guilt he felt for his anger the night before. Guilt for taking the coward's way out the next morning. Guilt for deserting Southerlyn on the one night he knew she would need someone to lean on.

"That night…I knew before I left Arthur had made his decision. To be honest Serena, I left because I fought like hell for you. Even though I thought leaving would be the best thing for you, in the long run. I wasn't sure if I'd done the right thing for you, or the right thing for me," McCoy said candidly, smiling as her eyes widened with surprise. "I'd lost - I'd lost three assistants already. I didn't want to lose a fourth."

"That night…even after I talked to you the next day…when I came back to pack up. I thought maybe you agreed with…," she started softly.

"Serena, you were an excellent prosecutor. If you wanted to come back now, I'd have you in a corner office so fast it would make your head spin. But your compassion, your commitment to the individual …those things make _your_ search for the truth a search that is best suited as defense lawyer."

Southerlyn gave him that bright as sunshine grin as she nodded in understanding.

"If I didn't have more to tell you, I'd treat you to the bunch of your choice for that, Jack."

This time it was McCoy's eyes that widened as he stood.

"Maybe I better make us some coffee, while you fill me in."


	8. White Tulips & Writs

Prescott impatiently checked her watch as the waiter set down the cheeseburger and fries beside the vanilla milkshake. It read 11:32.

She picked up a French fry as she stared at the view of the Brooklyn bridge, silently cursing the two of the three most important men in her life. Nearly two hours had passed since Detective Ed Green had promised her he would call her after his interview with the elusive William Marshall.

She and Green had just left Cohen's room when the call came. Green had his cell phone in hand, about to make a call using the phone number Jake Cohen had given him to reach Serena Southerlyn, when he received the call from McCoy.

Cohen's cryptic comments indicated one of the rising stars in the Manhattan legal community could lead Green to Marshall. Green's ambiguous and brief remarks after during his brief phone call with Jack McCoy confirmed this. When Green left in hast, the only information he would disclose was that McCoy wanted to meet Prescott at _Duggan's _at eleven.

_It's bad enough you won't talk to me….now you're standing me up_, she thought with increasing annoyance. _Damn it Jack, what's going on with you?_

Prescott turned the check over, reaching inside the worn green jacket that hung loosely on her.

"Hi. I got tied up on Broadway. Major accident with two delivery vans. Has traffic backed up to the bridge."

Prescott turned to face the man clad in blue jeans and a leather jacket, his light grey hair damp from the drizzle that was turning into a steady stream of rain. Prescott looked down at his hands, a smile forming on her lips.

"What, no carnations?"

McCoy grinned as he handed her the single white tulip.

"The benefit of making up when the flower shops are open," he said slipping a fry off of her plate. "Besides, the florist tells me white tulips are symbols of forgiveness. You'll find a dozen waiting for you on your desk Monday morning."

"Hard to forgive when I don't even know what the problem was. Do you think I'm idiot enough to believe your high standards of culinary excellence were what was really at the root of your problem with me last night?"

McCoy began he reply when the waitress joined them. Recognizing McCoy as one of her regulars, she poured him a cup of coffee, setting a few packets of sugar beside the mug. After confirming his usual order, she left the pair.

"An idiot would be the last thing I'd take you for, Brooke. You're right. The soup had nothing to do with it. We'd spend the day running. I won't presume to say I was as worried about Jake as you were, but the shooting of anyone involved in the criminal justice system worries me, especially when it's someone I know. I apologize. The last thing you needed was a quarrel over nothing with Jake fighting for his life."

Prescott studied the handsome face carefully. She knew "I apologize" was a phrase not often heard coming from the lips of Jack McCoy. Especially regarding a minor disagreement.

"We were both exhausted. And you where right - that soup _was _God awful," she admitted wryly. "But, when you were no where to be found this morning, I thought maybe there was more to it than that."

McCoy set the spoon on the napkin beside him as he took a sip of the coffee.

"I figured wanted to take care of a few things at the office," he replied smoothly - feeling a all too familiar pang of guilt, at yet dodging the truth, yet again. "Actually - it was a good thing I did. Serena Southerlyn came by. Apparently, she just heard about what happened to Jake. Seems she's legal counsel for Jake's lover."

Prescott frowned and she swallowed a bite of her burger.

"Jake sent Detective Green to Serena this morning. I don't understand why Marshall would need his counsel involved - he's a friend of the victim - a possible victim himself. Why…"

"Seems Jake has been less than honest with all of us. This 'William Marshall' is a pseudonym. Apparently Jake's lover is a government official. An official who hasn't come out of the closet yet."

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"Come on Serena, don't make me ask Mike Cutter to have Connie get a habeus corpus writ from Judge Wellman on a Sunday."

Even in his annoyed state, Ed Green couldn't help but notice that the impossible had happened. In the time Serena Southerlyn had been away from the DA's office, the attractive blonde had become even more beautiful. Green could still remember the first time he and his partner Lennie Briscoe, had met the ADA. Green had been infatuated from the moment she said "I'm ADA Southerlyn."

When Briscoe warned him off pursuing the ADA, Green reluctantly backed off. While he hadn't agreed with Briscoe's cynical observation that the new ADA was probably either gay or in love with Jack McCoy, Green knew relationships with co workers were usually destined for destruction.

When Southerlyn herself confirmed what the rumor mill around the courthouse was spreading, after her abrupt departure from the DA's office, Green could have been knocked over with a feather.

"Listen Ed, until he is charged-"

"He's a material witness in a murder investigation, as well as an attempt to murder an assistant DA! There's no way I'm taking his statement through a third party," Green said firmly.

"I've already spoken to Jack," Southerlyn said with equal resolve." He isn't happy either. He gave me until Monday morning to produce my client."

"And will you produce your client then or will he be half way to the Bahamas," he challenged.

"That depends on what Judge Rivera says Monday morning. Until then, what I have to say will at least point you in the direction of your killer."

Green shook his head in disbelief. _This guy could be half way across the globe by Monday morning. What the hell is McCoy doing…_

Making a mental note to call Van Buren at home afterwards, he took out his pen and notepad.

"I'm listening."


	9. Jack's Ability to Satisfy

As Jack McCoy strode towards the courthouse elevators, he was stopped by a familiar voice behind him.

"Good morning Lieutenant."

"When are you going to get with it and carry a cell phone like the rest of the civilized world, counselor," Van Buren asked wearily."I've been trying to reach you since late last night - don't you even check your voice mail?"

McCoy shrugged his shoulders as he took in the look of disapproval on Anita Van Buren's face.

"This time _I _am completely innocent, Lieutenant. I checked my messages on both the land line and my cell phone this morning. When I returned your call your son said you'd just left. To try you at work because _your_ cell phone was sitting on the kitchen counter."

Van Buren automatically felt inside both coat pockets. _Damn_, she thought as she remembered the frenzy that had ensued at her home as she started her morning routine. She had mentally checked off her gun, badge and gloves when her youngest boy joined her, in a panic over a missing science project. By the time the project had been found, she was running late. In an effort to get downtown for a ten o'clock meeting at One Police Plaza, she had dashed out of the house, not thinking to check for her phone.

"Sorry counselor - I haven't been to the 2 7 yet. Ed called me about this mystery witness to the shooting at The Townhouse. Tells me you gave the witnesses counsel until this morning to produce her client - aren't you concerned about the flight risk involved, Jack?"

"That's why I'm here."

McCoy pressed the button for the elevator.

"I don't understand. Ed said you gave Serena Southerlyn until-"

"Ten o'clock this morning to produce William Marshall. It's ten of ten now. I'm on my way to get a writ signed by Judge Bradley at ten o one," he said confidently. "I spent the better part of last night drafting it."

"Really? Isn't that something you have your ADA's for?"

McCoy smiled at the bewildered woman as he stepped into the waiting elevator.

"Anita, I've played darts with Walter Bradley for the last twelve years - my ADA's don't even know the game."

McCoy didn't even try to suppress his pleasure at seeing the shock on Serena Southerly's face when he walked into Judge Walter Bradley's chambers.

"Jack," Bradley said as he stood up and offered his hand. "I think you're lost. This is a motion hearing. The mayor's office is down a few blocks."

McCoy opened his satchel after shaking his friends hand.

"EADA. Cutter will be second chairing this case. Since he is unavailable this morning, I will be handling the motion for a writ of habus corpus personally," he said handing the judge a packet." You find my brief and the brief's of several cases supporting my motion included. Mr. Marshall - for lack of another name - is a material witness in the murder of Javier Esquado, as well as the attempted murder of assistant district attorney Jacob Cohen. It is imperative to the people's case that Mr. Marshall surrender himself to the authorities for questioning."

"Your honor, Mr. Marshall has provided the District Attorney and the NYPD with complete statement regarding the night of the shootings. There is nothing else for him to add regarding this matter."

"I don't understand Ms. Southerlyn. This is a murder investigation. What ever hardship a meeting with the authorities may have on your client….,"Bradley asked as he scanned the briefs.

"Your honor, my client is a prominent public official whose has kept his sexual orientation private. If the press were to find out that he was linked in any way to this investigation, not only would his right to privacy under _Melsh_, as well as _Roe_ and _Griswold_ be violated-"

"Your honor, this investigation's sole purpose is to find a murderer, not to violate the witnesses privacy rights. In _Souter v Houston_, the majority held that the police have a right to question witnesses directly outweighs any injury to the witness. That the public good-"

"out weighs the privacy rights of the individual," Bradley finished the sentence nodding. "I agree. Ms. Southerlyn I am granting the writ. Either produce your client by five o'clock today or a bench warrant will be issued."

"Thank you your honor," McCoy said as he turned to Southerlyn. "Let's hear it Serena."

Southerlyn remained silent until they were out of the judges chambers.

"Nice Jack. What did you do? Start writing your motion the minute the door closed behind me Sunday?"

"You know me Serena, I don't leave things to chance," he said confidently. "Besides, you know this could easily become a capital case. No judge is going to rule in favor of keeping a material witness under wraps."

"So you came down personally to handle the writ? Why? To watch me lose?"

McCoy stared at her in disbelief.

"Of course not. It's always an added pleasure to work on a case when opposing counsel is a friend. But I took this case on because it's important to send a message that it's not open season on public officials, not as a personal crusade against you."

Southerlyn flushed with embarrassment as she looked at the bright grey tile.

"I'm sorry Jack. I didn't expect …when I saw you… I thought I'd made a mistake coming to you. This case…"she said exasperated." Jake Cohen is a friend. I want his attacker found and punished. But my client-"

"Needs to stand up and take some responsibility. Serena, he left a man he is supposed to care about bleeding on the steps of a night club. Who is?"

Southerlyn looked around the empty corridor and back up into the dark brown eyes, that were fixed on her with the intent gaze she had seen many times before.

"His name is William Davenport."

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Prescott stared up at McCoy as she turned away from the computer screen.

"The Congressman that is chair of Return to Basics - the anti gay, anti women, anti everybody group," she asked her eyes widening as McCoy nodded. "That's impossible. If Jake knew he'd -"

"According to Serena, Jake was well aware of Davenport's affiliations. That's why he was hell bent for Davenport to leave the scene before anyone recognized him."

Prescott got up from the desk in McCoy's living room to join him on the sofa.

"The man had just been shot in the chest - it's a miracle he was even conscious, he had no idea what-"

"Brooke, Jake is a big boy. He knew who he was dealing with - he pointed you and Green to Serena himself. When he's better, I'm sure he'll give you specifics. For now, at least we have a name. Davenport is coming down to the 2 7 at four with Serena."

"At four," she sneered." Cutting it down to the wire on your judge's order isn't she? The 2 7 - what are the cross streets?"

McCoy shook his head as he geared up for the debate. After his meeting with Serena Southerlyn, McCoy had taken advantage of the break in his morning schedule to return to his apartment, wanting to share the latest development with Prescott in person.

"Brooke, you told me yourself, you need to get back to Islip. You haven't been home for weeks, you need-"

"Anxious to get rid of me, Jack?"

"You know that's not the case. Besides, Jake has been stable for more than twenty four hours. Dr. Carpenter says he could be out of ICU as soon as Tuesday. You know he'd want you to be sure his cases are in good hands and that his trials don't end up being rescheduled," McCoy hesitated, the words sticking in his mouth. "Your office is down two prosecutors. Renard needs you in Islip."

"Clint Renards 'needs' are of little interest to me, as you well know" she snapped.

Prescott slipped away from the hand that reached out and began pacing. Before McCoy had returned, she had been on the phone with the Suffolk county DA. Cohen had a capital case that he and Renard were scheduled to present within the week. She knew McCoy was right, she just wasn't ready to admit to either one of them.

"I just finished chatting with Ed Danvers in Miami. I can finish my part of the final report for the commission from New York. When Ed gets back to Baltimore-"

McCoy eyes flickered with recognition.

"Ed Danvers, from the Baltimore DA's office?"

"Yeah, do you know him?"

"We've gone up against each other a few times, over jurisdictional matters. Fine attorney."

"Ed's one of the good guys," she agreed. "He's been great about this whole shooting situation. Look, Jack. I can't go home before I know what is going on. I talked to my boss-"

"Renard?"

"No - Clint is my supervisor - Jackowicz is still DA. I do have to prepare for trial. If everything goes well with this interrogation, I can take an evening train home. Someone needs to hear what this guy says and let Jake know what is going on."

"You're emotionally involved," he said shaking his head. "you're too close to Jake to be objective-"

"I don't have to be. I'm not prosecuting the case."

"Brooke, even if I talk to Van Buren…. If you observe, you do just that. You can't taint the case by interfering-"

Prescott returned to where he sat and stopped the cautious flow of words with a kiss. McCoy leaned into the kiss, well aware that it was victory kiss.

"Objection, opposing counsel is using her feminine wiles to gain undue influence," he whispered as he felt his suit jacket slip over his shoulders.

"I won't blow…your case," she replied provocatively, as they both stood.

McCoy laughed softly as he took her in his arms. Prescott took care not get lipstick on his collar as she kissed his neck, while her fingers began to unknot his tie.

"Will you be there?"

"I have a meeting with the OCB in ninety minutes. I go straight from there to a meeting with the Attorney General. Mike Cutter will second chair for me," he said as his hands reached under the tee-shirt she had borrowed. "He'll sit in on the interrogation."

She stared up at him, her hands suddenly still.

"You'll be the attorney of record on the case?"

McCoy nodded as he took the opportunity to removed her tee shirt.

"You told me yourself I need to think about satisfying the needs of the voters," he said while he unhooked the white lace bra.

"Mr. District Attorney, your ability to satisfy, has never been in doubt."


	10. Congressman William Davenport

After dashing up the last flight of stairs, Prescott nearly ran into the new EADA as he came around the corner. Mike Cutter's hands instinctively reaching out to put a buffer between himself and the blur of motion in his path.

"Mr. Cutter, I'm sorry," she said breathlessly. "Have the detectives started -"

"Ms. Southerlyn just phoned," he said reassuringly. "She and Congressman Davenport got caught on the bridge. They should be here in the next ten to fifteen minutes. Jack said you'd be observing."

Prescott nodded.

"I hope that's not a problem?"

"Only if you keep calling me 'Mr. Cutter'. The name is Mike," Cutter said as he guided her towards the door marked 'Lt. Anita Van Buren'. "How long has Mr. Cohen been your assistant?"

"Almost twelve years."

"That's almost triple the time of my last four assistants," Cutter said, clearly impressed, stopped in front of the office door. "You two must have been quite a team."

Prescott smiled up at the handsome man.

"We still _are_ quite a team, Mike."

The conversation stopped abruptly in Van Buren's office as Cutter gave a quick tap on the door before entering. The woman behind the desk stood, along with Ed Green, and assessed the attractive woman with the EADA for Major Felonies.

When Jack McCoy had called to inform her the interrogation of Congressman William Davenport would be observed by a representative of the Suffolk county DA's office, Van Buren had assumed it was an official visit. One asked for by McCoy to accommodate the sister county's DA, due to one of his own being shot at outside his jurisdiction. When she passed the news on to the investigating officers, Green's shrewd smirk told her there was more to the story.

"I should have known, "she replied knowingly after had Green filled her in.

Van Buren had heard McCoy was once again involved with an ADA. What she hadn't known was this one wasn't assigned to his office. Van Buren remembered the way McCoy had been during his romance with Claire Kincaid. His eyes holding a hint of amusement, his tone slightly softer, in Kincaids presense.

Van Buren had noticed that same kind of relaxed manner about the new DA, in the past few months. Once she got over the initial annoyance of having McCoy's girl involved in one of her interrogations, she felt a twinge of curiosity regarding the woman in McCoy's life.

"Lt. Van Buren," Prescott said as the two women shook hands. "I appreciate your indulgence in this matter."

"The DA's a hard man to refuse," Van Buren said pointedly.

Green and Cutter traded uneasy glances. Prescott nodded solemnly, acknowledging Van Buren's unspoken message.

"I've heard Jack speak of you enough to know, you're not one to cave due to pressure from anyone. Especially your DA, Lieutenant," she said respectfully.

Van Buren's lip turned slightly up ward as she assessed the attractive redhead. Van Buren had expected the ADA to be good looking and young. Although Brooke Prescott had to be McCoy's junior, by at least a decade, Van Buren was surprised the other woman wasn't even younger. Looking into this woman's eyes, Van Buren could see the wisdom life had brought to her. Wisdom only found by taking a few of life's hard knock's.

"Jake Cohen is like a brother to me. I'd do anything within the law to help him. Otherwise, I don't usually call in personal marker's for professional favors," Prescott said quietly.

"We'll do everything we can to find the people responsible for his attack," Van Buren said as she touched Prescott's shoulder.

"Lt. Van Buren," said the officer standing in the doorway. "Ms. Southerlyn and her client are here."

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As Congressman William Davenport was brought into the interrogation room, Prescott couldn't help but notice he was the physical epitome of Jake Cohen's dream man,. Davenport was in his late thirties. Tall, with broad shoulders that suggested a muscular frame. His face tan and long, with large blue eyes that reflected an intelligent humor, framed by chestnut hair that stopped just above the collar of his grey oxford shirt.

Sure and somber, Prescott immediately distrusted every syllable uttered from his perfectly formed mouth.

"How is Jake," he inquired as he sat beside Southerlyn.

"Mr. Cohen's condition is confidential at this time, Congressman," Cutter said carefully. "All I can tell you is, he is alive and under twenty four hour guard."

Davenport sighed, his body relaxing noticeably.

"Thank God. If the people responsible were to find out where…"

"Rest assured, Mr. Cohen is safe," Green interjected as he sat beside Cutter, clicking on the small recorder that lay on the table.

As the four continued the conversation, Prescott watched Davenport intently. As he described the events leading up to the shooting Davenport described the dark sedan pulling in front of himself and Cohen, the two men in black ski masks…the gun…appearing from nowhere…the shots and Cohen on the ground….

"And you saw no one other than the two men in the car," pressed Green.

"Just the other shooting victim, after Jake was shot."

"And what did you do after the shooting," Cutter asked. "There is no record of a 911 call from your cell.."

"I…Jake was on the ground," Davenport said uneasily. "I started to get my phone out…Jake told me to go. Not to call, that the number could be traced…I tried to tell him I couldn't just leave him…he insisted…he was concerned about my career. My family.."

"Mr. Cohen was well aware of the risks to the Congressman," Southerlyn remarked.

"Once I was in my car, I got my phone out - but I heard the sirens. I knew someone else had phoned it in. I knew Jake and that other man would be looked after, so I, I drove home and listened to the news….I called the hospitals… you can check the phone records. They wouldn't tell me anything…"

"Congressman, have you received any threats recently? Letters, phone calls…"

"Detective, as a public servant I always receive my share of threats. Nothing stands out but-"

Southerlyn slipped a large manila envelope out of her briefcase and slid it to Green.

"I figured you might want these. The envelope contains the originals of all threatening correspondence the Congressman has received in the last six months."

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"I thought you were taking the 9:15 out of Penn station," McCoy said as the door to his apartment opened.

"I'll take the 6:10 out of Grand Central in the morning," she said wearily as she hung her suit jacket on the rack by the door and reached up to give him a kiss.

"You'll be lucky if the trains are running with that snow. Brooke, you're like ice,"he said as he rubbed her hands in his. "Why didn't you take one of my jackets-"

"It's one thing to wander around Manhattan on the weekend in your stuff. I was going to an interrogation, Jack. I had to look professional - especially in front of your colleagues. When we left Florida I just grabbed the essentials - didn't think to bring any work clothes. Luckily, I left this suit here a few weeks ago. I had to take the blouse to that one hour place near the courthouse, but…"

"Looking good isn't going to matter if you freeze to death," he scolded as he guided her to the sofa." Here, let's cover you up while I make you something warm. Tea, coffee, scotch?"

"The tea would be great. Anything else will keep me up," she said as he wrapped the blanket over her shoulders. "Listen did you talk to Mike yet?"

"Mike? Cutter? I was with the mayor until eight. The snow was already coming down pretty hard - I just hailed a cab while the streets were still clear and came here," he said from the kitchen. "How'd it go? Green and Cutter shake anything useful out of Davenport?"

As Prescott recounted the meeting McCoy listened intently. By the time she finished, he was back on the sofa, handing her the steamy mug as he sat beside her.

"Brooke, you know how I feel about politicians, but it sounds probable. The man is more concerned about votes than his lover…"

"Something isn't right bout that either," she said as she caressed the hot mug while she sipped at its contents.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning no matter how self absorbed a person is, when someone is shot in front of you, a person just acts. We've both seen it professionally. Ordinary people doing extraordinary things…Jake is shot inches away from this guy and he runs?"

"People react differently to shock?"

"Come on Jack… not when you're in love. This isn't a stranger, it's the most important person in your life…"

"What are you saying? That Davenport had someone else? Maybe the shooter is a jealous lover?"

"I don't know…maybe. What I do know is when you're standing next to the man you love and he's shot, you don't run. You can't. Even if he's telling you to leave him…to save yourself…you can't think of anything but how to save him," she said urgently.

McCoy took the mug from her as he realized the meaning behind her words. McCoy's own brush with death on the courthouse steps flashed through his mind. The way his then assistant, Alexandra Borgia, immediately was at his side. Borgia insisting on staying with him - through the questioning, the visit to the ER, the cab ride home - until she knew for certain her supervisor was going to be all right...He moved underneath the blanket with Prescott as he drew her to him, kissing her tenderly.

"That's how you felt when Sam was shot, isn't it," he whispered softly.

"Yes," she said softly. "As well as last summer, when Samantha Weaver pointed that gun at you...If Davenport and Jake were involved there's no way he could just leave him on those steps. Not unless he was playing Jake the whole time."

McCoy looked down at her and sighed.

"It sounds like you need answers only Jake can give you. Did you go back to the hospital or are you going to do it before you take a train out in the morning?"

Prescott ran a cool finger along the top of his tee-shirt.

"Neither. I don't think Jake will tell me. This is too personal. Too private - I think talking to a woman would make it harder for him to open up. Now, if he were to talk to a man. A man he trusts and respects-"

"Are you serious," he retorted. "Do you honestly think Jake is going to open up to me about his sex life? I don't even-"

"Jack, you've talked to thousands of witnesses and victims over the years. This is the same thing."

"Maybe Mike or Ed…"

"Jack. We are talking about finding a murderer. Mike and Ed would do fine if Jake weren't so weak and confused. This has to come from someone he already knows and trusts. It has to be you."


	11. All Bets Are Off

McCoy walked into the room filled with floral arrangements and balloons, a few minutes shy of noon the next day. Jake Cohen was sitting up in his bed. With most of the tubes and machines that had engulfed him days before were gone. Cohen's color had improved. While still weak, McCoy could see the ADA was on the mend.

"How do you like the new room?"

Cohen nodded at the figure in his door way as he pointed to the chair beside the bed.

"Jack, this is an unexpected treat. Have to admit, there was a male nurse in ICU that I'd taken a fancy to, right before they moved me. Thinkin' maybe if I threaten the hospital with a discrimination suite, they'll reassign him to this ward, so it'll look like they have more male nurses on staff. I take it Brooke made it back home yesterday?"

"This morning. She had some last minute business to attend to and missed the train. I put her on the first one out of Grand Central this morning."

"Be honest Jack, she just didn't want to leave you and the benefit of your presence on these cold winter nights," he said with a wink.

McCoy gave Cohen a sheepish grin.

"Was it cold last night?"

"Below freezing."

McCoy widened his eyes.

"Was it? I didn't notice."

Cohen chuckled softly.

"I'm sure you didn't. Taking up with you is the smartest thing that girl's done in a while. If you weren't involved with my best friend, I'd make a play for you myself."

McCoy shifted uneasily. Not at Cohen's playful banter - McCoy usually gave as good as he got with Cohen - but at the opening he'd been give to delve into something necessary but unpleasant.

"Is that how it started with Davenport," McCoy asked as he closed the door. "Harmless flirtation that led to something more? Or not?"

Now Cohen shifted uncomfortably.

"I've never known Brooke to be gutless. To send someone else to do her dirty work..."

"She doesn't deserve that and you know it Jake," McCoy said sharply. "Your Congressmen tells a story any prosecutor would punch holes in. Whatever is going on between you two may have got that night watch man shot. I can't believe you don't feel an obligation to help find that man's killer."

"William doesn't know anything. I told him to go Jack. He could lose everything. Why can't the two of you just accept-"

"Your were laying on the ground bleeding to death. Do you expect me to apologize for doubting the sincerity of a man that would leave you to die? Do you expect that of Brooke, after what she went through herself? You were around when her husband died - could Brooke have left him with a bullet in his chest? Even if he begged her to?"

Cohen opened his mouth to reply and stopped short. He knew the security detail had to literally pick her up and carry her away from Sam Prescott's lifeless corpus that fateful night.

"What neither of you understand," he said finally. "Is that Brooke and Sam were married - a socially acceptable thing for straight couples to do. This isn't the same situation."

McCoy hesitated, and then stuck the dagger in, remembering his promise.

"It's not the same because you weren't lovers, were you Jake?"

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McCoy knew he'd hit a nerve when Cohen pressed is lips together and glared back at the DA.

"Do you really expect anyone to believe someone openly gay would knowingly associate with a man who not only isn't out of the closet, but is heading up a borderline hate group like Return to Basics? There's something you're not telling the police that might help them to find a killer."

"I told Detective Green everything I remembered," he said defensively. "The partial I got on the license plates of the car across the street…the number of shots…how the first two shots missed-"

"Don't play games with me Jake," McCoy snapped.

"You don't understand - you _can't_ understand."

"I understand someone _died _-"

"Listen Jack, I'm not some ignorant suspect you can bully into submission."

"No, you're an officer of the court, as well as a witness. Suspects have rights that you do not. I don't want to charge you with obstruction, Jake. But I can and I will-"

"Touché counselor," Cohen said undaunted. "When Serena called last night, we made a bet as to how long it would take for you to threaten one of us with jail. She said by the end of the day - I said before noon."

"Well," McCoy said bitterly as he stood. "I'm glad you and Serena find this so entertaining. I have to talk to the night watchman's widow - she's having trouble getting the body released for burial."

"Come on Jack, who are you kidding," Cohen said shrewdly. "You're the District Attorney. One of your many subordinates would be pawned off on the widow of a nameless-"

"His name was Esquardo. Javier Esquardo," McCoy retorted matter of factly. "He left a family of six, including a wife, who is six months pregnant. I'll be sure to tell her you send your condolences."

"Jack, wait!"

McCoy swung around, his gaze softening upon seeing the shame in Cohen's eyes.

"Jake, whether you admit it or not, William Davenport is hiding something. Whether you think his secret is more important than a man's-"

"Obviously a man's life is more important…,"Cohen sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. William and I met several months ago at a congressional hearing on a federal bill proposing legalization of gay marriage. Naturally, we were on opposite ends of the aisle. One night, we both happened to be dining late in the same café. The place was deserted. We ended up sharing a booth and talking…To make a long story short we became friends. Unofficially."

"Friends?"

Cohen nodded as McCoy returned to the chair by the bed.

"Oh, I won't say I wasn't interested from the moment he opened his ignorant mouth at that hearing," Cohen admitted." William is quite a striking man. But, as far as I knew, he was an opponent and nothing more. One that was as straight as an arrow. I looked at William much the way I image you looked at Serena, when she was your assistant. As someone desirable, that I had no chance of having."

"Point taken," McCoy said with an amused nod. "When did things change?"

Cohen hesitated for a moment, seeming to debate something silently.

"You know William has been linked to a variety of women, but no marriages. No live in's…the pattern is dating relationships of less than six months, then an amicable break up. Just enough time for the press to get wind he's seeing a woman. Not enough time for it to go anywhere."

"You're saying he was keeping up appearances?"

"Exactly. The week I was in Manhattan for the that workshop at Rockefeller Center, I stopped in at The Townhouse, late one night. It was the middle of the week - the piano bar was empty - except for William Davenport. I was stunned. Of all places to see him….nevertheless I, being the wiseass that I am, I sat across the room and sent a drink to William and a request to the piano player," Cohen smiled at the memory.

"Let me guess," McCoy interjected. "_Strangers in the Night_?"

"I knew there was more to you than a pretty face Jack," Cohen said with a grinned, sounded more like himself. "I'll spare you the personal banter. The bottom line is he's struggled with his sexuality for years. He's at a point in his life where he needs to come to terms with it. We started spending time together."

"But you didn't-"

Cohen shook his head.

"There's been intimacy, but not on the level you're suggesting. Jack, you have a reputation that having gotten to know you, I realize is a bit bloated. So does William. As men, we both know there are situations a true man, treats with care. With patience."

McCoy eyed Cohen curiously.

"Patience and gentleness," McCoy said with understanding.

"Exactly," Cohen agreed.

"You told Brooke-"

"I had found the man of my dreams. She assumed we had become lovers. A natural, but erroneous assumption. He's in turmoil. Over his sexuality, over job, over his basic values-"

"Jake, the man is part of the leadership of a ultra conservative-"

"Family pressure," Cohen countered. "Trust me, I am not defending his association with Return to Basics."

"He's a politician. He knows how to manipulate people, Jake."

"He's not what he seems, on any level Jack," Cohen said wearily." He left me that night in tears - I had to beg him to go. He's not responsible for any of this. If you really want justice for the Esquardo family, you'll need to look elsewhere."


	12. Unworthy SOB's

"..it's your choice, Mr. Edmonds. Either accept the deal or we go to trial," Prescott said as she stood up . "I don't much care which. Either way it'll be a conviction. It's a win win situation for my office. I'd just prefer to save the taxpayers money and myself the tme of a trial"

She mentally counted to ten as she picked up her briefcase. She was about the pull the heavy metal door open, when defense counsel blinked.

"We'll take the deal."

_Of course you will, _she thought smugly.

"I'll have the clerk send you the papers Monday."

As she walked through the maze of hallways towards her office, Prescott automatically unbuttoned the jacket of her blue pin stripe pantsuit. She sighed with satisfaction. It was Friday. She'd made her goal of not only clearing the remainder of C and D felony cases from Cohen's caseload, but been prepared to give opening arguments in the triple murder case Cohen and EADA Clint Renard had been scheduled to open that morning.

Although the week had been hectic, Prescott realized quickly how much she'd missed the fast pace of the Suffolk county District Attorney's office. She also reluctantly admitted to herself that working with Clint Renard, wasn't on par with having a triple root canal without painkiller.

Prescott had just slipped her heels off and was reviewing the stack of messages that had been left on her desk, when EADA Clint Renard opened the door.

"Listen, when you finish with Edmonds I could use some help on the Manetti closing. The last bit just doesn't ring true," he said as he glanced at the clock on the credenza. "Unless you have some place else you need o be- I didn't realize it was almost eight."

"Edmonds is done - plead out," she said slipping her shoes back on and grabbing a file from the top of the pile. on the edge of her desk.

"That was the last of them right," he asked as he waited for her to step through the doorway.

She nodded as she opened the file in her hand.

"Until Monday," she said with a smirk. "I had to give a little on Ramirez - Man Two - instead of Man One. The PD was a real-"

"I trust your judgment Brooke," he said as he glanced at the file she handed him.

Prescott looked sharply up at her immediate supervisor.

"Excuse me? You _what_," she said mockingly. "Could you repeat that - I couldn't of heard you right-"

Renard gave her a mock bow as he continued. "I defer to your judgment, all right?"

"I want _that_ on tape," she said under her breath as he shot her a look.

"Thanks for giving the opening this morning - any problems?"

Prescott shook her head, as they entered his office. The exchange of information continued on and off for another hour, as they ironed out the rough spots in Renard's closing argument. Once they finished, Renard opened the bottom desk drawer and removed two glasses and a half empty bottle of brandy.

"Bad idea," Prescott said as she moved towards the coffee pot." I missed lunch - a drink would-"

"Damn it Brooke," Renard said as he reached into the same drawer and pulled out a box of crackers. "One of these days you're going to pass out in a courtroom."

"Thanks. Jake usually makes a food run if we're in the middle of something," she said taking a handful of saltines.

"I knew there was a reason Jackowicz kept you two together for so long," Renard said as lifted his glass. "Last I heard, Jake was being released over the weekend. I assume that means you'll be unavailable to work Saturday?"

"Jack's going to bring him out to the house tomorrow," she said as she set the coffee cup on the desk. "I can be here until noon, so if you want me to start on the motion to suppress-"

Renard shook his head as he loosen his tie.

"Forget it - I'll do it. I know you still have commitments with Danvers in Florida you have to attend to, as well. Listen, I haven't heard anything about an arrest. Has the NYPD hit a dead end already?"

Prescott took her time as she chewed the cracker. She knew the last thing Jake Cohen would want was for Clint Renard to be privy to details about his personal life. However, he was the DA's right hand man… Not that McCoy had revealed any of the information Cohen had given him, to her. She knew the rules: On going investigation zero discussion of anything connected to the case.

She knew the rules, but she didn't have to like them.

"I spoke to Lt. Van Buren last night - the commanding officer of the precinct investigating the shooting. Her detectives have been reviewing the evidence and following up on their leads-"

"In other words, there retracing the ground they've already covered because the case is already cold?"

Prescott shrugged her shoulders.

"If you want a better answers, maybe you should talk to Jake yourself."

"Are you saying I am welcome in your home to do that, Brooke? Maybe you better check with your new 'husband' before you -"

Prescott gave him a snide stare that he returned. As the seconds turned into a full minute, each of them fighting not to blink. A sight reminescent of two six year olds, holding their breaths. Realizing this, both attorney's started to laugh.

"You know it was funnier than hell watching you squirm," she said as she catch her breath.

"You know you and Jack McCoy truly deserve each other," he countered." Anyone that would even joke about marrying that guy deserves to live the dream."

Prescott slipped her shoes off once more and leaned back in the chair across from the EADA, propping her feet up on the desk.

"Get your stinky feet off my desk," he said with mock indignation.

"Only after you tell me what it is you think you know about Jack," she said pensively. "I mean, gee Clint. I can understand your complete devastation after screwing things up with me, but …"

Renard set his brandy down as he gasped for air. Prescott started to get up as the choking continued, but Renard motioned for her to sit down. After a several seconds the coughing subsided and he carefully sipped at the brandy.

"I knew one day that wiseass streak of yours was going to kill me," he said hoarsely. "I should have you up on attempted murder-"

"I just came back from a crime task force," she said dryly. "I know more about drug dealers and hit men than I ever wanted to know. Trust me, I now have the knowledge to make anyone of my choosing disappear. Including _you_. So, why do you have it in for Jack? You and I have been old news for years. I know you were hurting during this last divorce, but…"

"Brooke, I regret the way things ended between us," he said earnestly. "I know the timing was a disaster, add to that my bad judgment…I wish things had been different for us."

Prescott set her feet back on the floor.

"Now hold on, missy," he said letting a bit of his well hidden Louisiana accent creep back into his voice. "You won't get an answer to your question if you cut and run. Besides, I wasn't the only one that over reacted. You wouldn't let me get within thirty feet of you for the first year. Then every time I managed to get near you, you shut me down with that sassy little mouth of yours."

"I'm not here to relive old times, Clint."

"I understand that. I'm just saying neither of us handled the situation well."

Prescott stared down at the floor as she thought about the last time she had worked late in this office. The argument about withholding what Renard saw as exculpatory evidence, evidence Prescott had seen in a 'don't ask, don't tell' light. The angry words, the slamming of the door…the regret the next morning…the blinding anger when she found out Renard had turned to a mutual friend for more than a shoulder to cry on…

"Fine. I was hurt. I had unrealistic expectations for us…I hadn't even been a widow a year. I'd forgotten how the game is played," she said tightly.

"Brooke, it was one night," he said regretfully. "One thought less, drunken, stupid-"

She sighed as she held a hand up.

"Don't. It's over. And it's for the best - I'm not saying that to hurt you, Clint. I thought maybe…once… I was wrong. Sam and I had our share of knock down drag out's - don't let his old 'ah darlin' now don't go getting' all upset' crap fool you," she said as his eyebrows raised. "But he never would have …neither of us would have…"

Prescott started for the door, as Renard came around from the desk and reached for her.

"Brooke listen, will you? Men like Sam Prescott come around once in a lifetime," he said softly, as he gently stroked her cheek." Sadly, you live in a world filled with unworthy SOB's like myself and Jack McCoy."

Prescott closed her eyes tightly, fighting to hold back tears brought on by the emotional high's and low's of the week, as well as fatigue, and sudden ache she felt whenever she found herself thinking of Sam Prescott.

"Clint, it's taken us years to get our professional life back on track. It would be a mistake to screw it up again. We've come full circle. You're getting over another divorce. I …"

"You're right. You have come full circle," he said as he wiped the tears from her face." You're involved with a man that won't be able to make you happy - not in the long run."

Prescott rolled her eyes as she tried to get a hold of herself, stepping back as she looked up at Renard impatiently.

"Stop dancing, Clint. Does Jack have another woman? Is he secretly gay? Is he selling secrets to the Russians? Either spill it or drop it."

"Listen, I worked in the Manhattan office while McCoy and Diana Hawthorne were-"

"Is _that_ what you think you have on him? Jack has a thing for ADA's? Old news, Clint."

Renard shook his head.

"That maybe, but Diana and I were friends. She knew things weren't right, long before that ditch trip to Ireland he took her on,"Renard paused as he motioned for her to sit down. "How much has McCoy told you about his past?"

Prescott looked at him sharply as he sat beside her.

"His past? His marriages? Is that-"

"His childhood."


	13. Homecoming

Jake Cohen leaned on McCoy as the pair carefully took the last step up Prescott's porch. Cohen leaned on the railing, looking out at the freshly shoved snow, as McCoy fumbled with his key. Cohen had to admit his brush with death had left him with a heightened awareness of his senses and a greater appreciation of things taken for granted, such as the smell of pine in the air and the feel of the cool air on his freshly shaven face.

"Brooke, we're here," McCoy called out while kicking the door closed. "Where to Jake? The guestroom, the sofa…"

"Actually, Jack I am feeling a bit worn after the drive. Although next time, I expect a ride on the BMW - not a rent a car."

McCoy grinned.

"Count on it," he said as he helped Cohen up the stairs. "Brooke said she was putting you in Sam's old study. Hopefully, the bed from the hospital supply-"

"The bed? She rented a _hospital_ bed," he said incredulously." The doctor said I needed to take it easy, not replicate Manhattan General."

When McCoy opened the door, he had to admit Cohen's fears where reasonable. The room didn't have the feel of a sterile hospital, but it had all of the equipment. Hospital bed, mounted TV, the bed table for eating…even the plastic basin for …accidents…sat on the night table.

"Jack," Cohen said gravely. "You haven't been taking care of my girl."

"What makes you say that?"

"Clearly she's had too much time on her hands - this looks like a set from ER for God's sake!"

"Hi, I didn't hear you guys come in," Prescott said breathlessly as she gave McCoy a quick kiss and moved to embrace Cohen.

"I figured you'd gone to the office when I didn't see your car on the driveway," McCoy replied.

Prescott shook her head.

"I was in the basement - setting up some things for Jake when he feels better," she said fluffing Cohen's pillows.

"The basement? Brooke, I can hardly get up the stairs."

"That's now, "she said firmly. "In a week you'll be going stir crazy, so I set up some games to amuse yourself with down there. I got Sam's old pool table down, the backgammon set is ready, I replaced the dart board and got you a new set of darts as well."

"Darts," Cohen said cautiously." That's Jack's game. Serena tells me you are a ringer McCoy."

"I do all right," he said modestly.

"All right," Cohen repeated as he took the set of pajamas Prescott had pulled from the closet. "Brooke don't let this guy fool you - if he try's to talk you into strip darts -be sure you double up on your undergarments."

Prescott watched as the two men laughed good naturedly, trying to make up her mind as to who to set her sights on first.

"Do you need a hand with those?" McCoy asked.

Cohen shook his head as he stood.

"Thanks Jack, but I can manage. If you two don't mind, I think I'll slip into these and take a quick snooze," he said hoping to buy himself some time before Prescott could begin her interrogation regarding William Davenport.

"Is your … Is William still planning to come by this evening," Prescott asked as she and McCoy moved towards the door.

"Sunday. He'll be up Sunday and I'm telling you now Brooke, as much as I appreciate you putting me up, the subject is closed. At least while he's here."

"Subject?"

Cohen frowned as he met the innocent gaze.

"You've been told more than once that piety doesn't become you. Neither does ignorance."

Cohen stared in shock when she smiled back as she closed the door with a simple 'sleep well' and let the subject drop.

Once outside Cohen's room, McCoy pulled her into an embrace. He kissed her passionately as he began to guide her towards the room across the hall.

Prescott gave a muffled giggle as his hands found their way over the tee-shirt that smelled of perfume, perspiration, and dust.

"Jack, I've been working on the basement for hours…I really need a shower first," she said as she stepped away from him.

"The shower sounds like a good place to start," he said lustfully as he pulled her into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Prescott grinned up at him as she began to remove his leather jacket.

"Maybe afterwards…we could…"she whispered between kisses.

"We could…?"

"Maybe you could teach me a thing or two," she said suggestively as she dropped his shirt on top of the jacket.

"What would you like to learn young lady," he asked playfully, as his mouth found a breast.

"Since you're such the gamesman….maybe you could teach me how to play… a game …"

McCoy looked up, amused.

"And which 'game' would you like to play?"

Prescott reached for him as she gave him a seductive one word reply.

"Darts."


	14. Let the Games Begin

McCoy looked around the finished basement as his palms began to sweat. The room looked like something out of a home remodeling magazine or the back room of a well kept pub. The pool table with the bright stain glassed light above it, rosewood bar, the brightly lit jute box on the other side of the room…

Although the rustic room was nothing like the basement from his childhood, it elicited the same response. It was the reaction he had whenever he found himself in a basement. The confined feeling, the earthy smell….it always brought those days back to the front of his consciousness.

McCoy wiped his hands on the front of his jeans, her back to him as she pulled two bottles from the mini fridge behind the bar.

"I still can't believe this thing works," she said handed him a crème soda. "I can't remember the last time I was down here."

"Well, you did a nice job cleaning it up, especially in the short time you had," he said impressed. "I can't find a speck of dust…even the lampshade looks like new."

"Thanks," she said as she pulled the darts from the board across the room. "When I was a kid, the importance of cleanliness was impressed upon both of us kids."

Prescott leaned against the bar and took a pull of the soda. She watched her lovers face, catching the slightest flicker as she made her remark. Part of her wanted to just ask McCoy. Ask about the information Clint Renard had given her about the hell that was Jack McCoy's childhood. Information that explained the other night, as well as other seemly minor, but uncharacteristic silences and abrupt departures over the course of nearly a year.

She hated playing games. Of any kind. She knew enough from her stint in the juvenile division, that she was playing a dangerous game, manipulating him to revisit the past. Renard claimed it was that refusal to deal with the past that played a key role in the undoing of his relationship with Diana Hawthorne.

While Prescott knew the woman was far from an objective observer in McCoy's life, she also knew the pattern of his days as a young attorney in the DA's office - the litter of ended relationships - could be explained by the issues left unattended from his childhood.

"Tell me about this."

Prescott followed his gaze to the pool table in the center of the room. She flushed, remembering it's primary use during her marriage…

"What's to tell," she said looking away. "It's a pool table - pretty self explanatory."

McCoy smiled reassuringly, noting her discomfort, as he picked up the white queue ball at its center.

"Sam's game or yours?"

"Oh, most definitely Sam's," she said relaxing slightly as she joined him. "I was doing well not to snag the felt when I shot."

The pair laughed, as McCoy rested his arm along her shoulder. He leaned towards the center of the table, running a finger along a slightly worn area, looking quizzically at Prescott.

"Your handiwork," he asked. When her face brightened McCoy looked uncertain, then chuckled softly. "You two made each other very happy, Brooke. If you…if this is holds private memories…well, I'm not threatened and you shouldn't be embarrassed"

Prescott sighed inwardly. _Should have known better_, she thought. _This is what I get for bringing him down here and rummaging around in his life….damn Clint and that idiot Diana Hawthorne…damn yourself for not just ask…_

"Brooke, if I hit a nerve-"

"No Jack," she said quickly as she looked up into the troubled brown eyes. "not at all. We used to spent a lot of time down here in the winter. The table got a lot of use…rarely was a queue stick involved."

McCoy nodded as he squeezed her shoulders.

"I used to know a expert pool player. Hustled pool the way I hustle darts," McCoy said thoughtfully.

"Have I met him?"

"Wish I could say you had. Lennie was a character…died a few years ago. Used to partner with Ed Green. Played pool almost as well as he worked a case….,"McCoy said let his voice trail off as he set the ball down and turned to Prescott." You really want to me to teach you darts? It's really not much of a game."

"Actually…I'm curious as to how you become so proficient," she said truthfully. "I know you play basket ball in the spring. You loved the beach enough to buy a house on the shoreline…darts just doesn't fit somehow."

_Reason 5, 550 of why I should never start another relationship_, he told himself silently.

She was right, of course. Dart's was his father's game. Just like attorney was his father's career choice. Over the years, McCoy had made them both his own - eventually making both passions in his life. But it never failed. Whenever he found a woman he wanted in his life his past, sooner or later, came back into view.

"My father taught me when I was very young," he said as he moved back to the bar and pulled out a stool.

"Your father," she said already hating herself before the word were out of her mouth. "I got the impression you two weren't very close."

McCoy finished the bottle of soda, tossing it with the thud into the can behind the bar.

He looked at her curiously, the wheels inside his head propelling him to a conclusion he wasn't sure he wanted to confront.

"Is there something you want to ask me, Brooke?"

Prescott tried unsuccessfully to hold his penetrating gaze. It was one think to stand in a courtroom with a poker face to try to get a defendant to slip up. It was quite another to try it with the man you loved. Several seconds passed before she lowered her eyes to the cobalt blue flooring.

"God, Jack. I don't know what I was thinking."

"You're too good a prosecutor not to have done your homework," he said coldly. "I shouldn't have expected you'd be any less through in your personal life. What agency-"

"I did _not_ do a background check on you," she interjected tersely. "Or any other kind of check."

McCoy nodded, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"How did you find out?"

Prescott resisted the urge to cross the room and put her arms around him. As much as he reminded her of vulnerable child - hands in pockets, shoulders fallen, eyes to the floor - she could sense his fury at what she knew he considered, a violation.

"A chance conversation - the information just fell into my lap. I swear-"

"Who?"

"That's not important," she hedged, unable to lie, not ready to deal with his reaction to the truth.

When McCoy looked up, Prescott could see their relationship unraveling as he stared in to her eyes.

"It's important to me."

Prescott took a breath as she moved towards him.

"Jack, I love you," she could hear her voice crack as the pool of tears spilled over and out of her eyes. " I made a horror able mistake."

McCoy let her rest her hand on top of his shoulder, not pulling away, not taking it.

"Go on."

"Clint Renard heard about it years ago from Diana Hawthorne. We were finishing up last night and the usual bantering started….I should have just asked you, but you can be so evasive that I.."

McCoy nodded as he pulled his hand out of his pocket, car key in hand.

"I appreciate your honesty," he said as he kissed her forehead." I need to get out of here. I'll call you when I get back to Manhattan."

Prescott watched as he went up the basement stairs, wanting to go after him, but knowing if would be another mistake. She started to pull a stool out from the bar, as the tears began to flow freely, when she heard the sound of the doorbell. Her mind flashed back to her conversation with Renard as she made a mad dash for the stairs.


	15. Placing Blame

When she entered the sitting room, Prescott stopped short of the two men in the entry way.

"I'm here at Brooke's request, not to trade insults with you, McCoy."

McCoy swung around looking at Prescott for confirmation.

"I told him he could come by-" she began as he snatched the leather jacket off the back off the sofa and started out the door.

"-to speak to Jake," she shouted as she started out the door.

"Brooke don't," Renard said, blocking her way.

"Jake is upstairs - go say what you have to say to him and get out," she snapped as she pushed passed him, in time to see the taillights of the rent a car light up, as the car began to move away from the curb.

Nearly an hour had passed before she heard the knock on the basement door. Not trusting herself to risk talking to Renard, Prescott had grabbed her briefcase, taking it down to the basement and locking the door behind her. After a futile attempt to block out her confrontation with McCoy, she closed the file she had tired unsuccessfully to read and went around to the other side of the bar.

She poured herself a shot of tequila, leaving the file on the bar, before moving to the jute box at the back of the room. Downing the shot, she hit several selections by memory and chuckled as the machine came back to life.

"Can I have this dance…for the rest of my life," she sang softly to herself, as the old Anne Murray song took her back to another life, another time…

She smiled to herself as she imaged the tall lean figure turning around from the table, smiling that slight, knowing smile she loved so much - shirt sleeves rolled, vest unbuttoned - ready to tell her in that faint West Virginia drawl of his - something guaranteed to make her laugh in spite of her miserable state….

"Damn it Sam, just look at the mess I've made now…,"she said out loud, staring at the pool table.

"Brooke, don't make me break the door down. Worse yet, don't make me come down those stairs."

It took her a second to realize the words she heard where not just her mind playing tricks on her. Words that came with a distinct New England accent….

"Jake what the hell are you doing - you could bust those stitches wide open," she demanded as she opened the door.

Cohen stood, leaning against the door frame, panting as he grinned.

"If the mountain won't come to Mohammed…"

"Oh God," she said guiding him back to the sitting room. "Jake I'm so sorry. I didn't even hear you…"

"How could you, over all the fireworks," he joked as he sat with her on the sofa.

"Listen, do you want anything? I have chicken soup ready-"

"Brooke, all I want is to know is what in hell happened? When I laid down for my nap you and Jack were getting ready to have some good clean fun. When I wake up, I find out someone not only let Renard out of his cage, but let him into your house…."

Cohen refrained from commenting verbally - his facial expressions doing double duty - even after Prescott finished her story.

"What," she said exasperated by the silent grin.

Cohen let out a sigh.

"Where, o where, to begin?"

"A big help, as usual," she said as she stood up and moved to the fireplace. "You know, none of this would have happened if you'd just managed to stay out of trouble and not get yourself shot."

Cohen let out a careful laugh, as he moved a protective hand to his chest.

"Oh, I get it. It's my fault you let your guard down with that moron we call a supervisor?"

"Well," she replied pensively, as she finished lighting the kindling and rejoined him on the sofa. "I wouldn't have been so distracted if you'd just tell me what's going on with you and this Congressman."

"Nice try - but we're talking about you now."

"Not much to say, is there? He's pissed - which for Jack - is a cover. He's hurt , as well and rightly so. He's probably back in Manhattan by now, so I can't even begin to smooth things over - not that I have any clue how to do that…"

"You _are_ distracted," Cohen said shaking his head." It took the two of us twice the normal time to get out here - I doubt the bridge is even open with the amount of snow that was coming down."

"Meaning, what? He's stuck somewhere between here and Manhattan? Like that's a good thing?"

"How you managed to clear my calendar - bluffing your way through the likes of Eagan the rest of my friends in the PD's office -,"he said impatiently." When you can't even read the man you've been sleeping with for months - is beyond me. He said he'd call you _when_ he got back to Manhattan - he didn't say he was actually going there _now_, did he?"

Prescott scared at him, trying to see what she was missing.

"The house in Ocean beach?"

Cohen patted her on the shoulder approvingly.

"That's my girl!"


	16. Truth or Dare

McCoy emptied the last of the scotch into his glass. What normally was a drink of choice had become a way to stay warm. When he arrived at the small cottage near the beach he belated realized how limited his supplies were. Because of the time he had spent traveling from Miami to Islip in the last several months, McCoy had neglected to stock the beachfront property with the usual winter essentials..

His supply of firewood was all but gone, as was his supply of food and drink. Reluctant to go back out into the cold, he opted to tough it out with the last of the scotch and a wall heater on its last leg.

He glanced at the clock above on the fireplace mantel and felt a surge of guilt. He knew Prescott would be hoping for a phone call. On a normal day, he would have made to Manhattan almost two hours earlier. He knew she'd assume that's were he was. The normally articulate DA procrastinated, unsure of what he wanted to say.

Just as he turned the CD player on - hoping the sound of some Miles Davis would relax him enough to nap - he heard the sound of a car on the driveway. Startled, he moved to the kitchen, taking a quick glance at the wall calendar that listed the schedule he and his ex wife had set up for use of the house.

"Listen - I just came by to drop this off," she said in a rush of words, fearing he'd slam the door in her face. "I know you want some space, but I know you haven't had time to-"

McCoy smiled in spite of himself at the forlorn sight of his lover holding an assortment of items that a any given moment were destined to fall from her grasp. McCoy reached out taking the arm full of firewood from her and motioning for her to come in.

"I thought you were nursing Jake back to health."

"I am," she said setting the grocery bag and pizza down on the counter. "Remember I'm not the only one in town that wants to see Jake. My niece jumped at the chance to play nurse while I came out here - my brother is going to stop by after he gets off his shift to check on them."

"Brooke, I'm not sure if this is such a good idea," he said after setting the wood beside the fireplace. "I really don't know -"

"Listen Jack," she said as she opened the bottle of Chives Regal she had removed from the bag. "I know I was wrong. Trying to manipulate you into a conversation about….well, it was stupid. And thoughtless. I should have just asked you about your childhood."

"Yes, you should have,' he said grabbed another glass off of the kitchen counter. "But what's done is done."

"Well, I'm asking now," she said handing him his glass.

"Brooke, there are some things better left in the past. I'm sure there are things about you and your life with Sam you'd rather I didn't ask about."

Prescott nodded.

"Agreed. However, there are things neither of us has been willing to talk about since we got involved that sooner or later have to be discussed. Don't misunderstand - I don't expect you to tell _all_ the secrets."

McCoy titled his head as he waited for her to continue.

"Tell you what - let's take care of this pizza after you start a fire - this place is like an icebox. Then I'll teach you a little game I used to be pretty good at."

"And that would be," he asked intrigued.

"Truth or Dare."

8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Once the last of the pizza had disappeared, McCoy took the opportunity to run out to Prescott's car and retrieve the rest of the firewood. While he stoked the fire in the stone covered fireplace, Prescott refilled the two shot glasses on the coffee table.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

Prescott giggled as he rejoined her on the sofa.

"I'm as sure as I was the first time you asked me that question," she replied glibly. "Do you remember when that was, Jack?"

"The night we made love the first time," he said with a triumphant grin." My turn."

"What?"

"You just asked your first question - now it's my turn."

Prescott suppressed her own grin, knowing she had been successful in guaranteeing McCoy's participation.

"Fine," she said feigning defeat.

McCoy leaned back on the sofa, as he sipped at the scotch.

"I have wondered about something for a while now," he mused." Most of the beautiful women I know-"

"And God knows, you know a lot of them."

"Most of them," he continued ignoring her remark. "Eat like birds and still think they're heavy. How do you put away things like the cobbler and milk shakes…not to mention the fries and still look so desirable?"

"That's not a question. That's a back handed compliment. You're saying I'm a junk food junkie."

"Who brought the pizza?"

"All right - I eat like an idiot when I'm around you - on the weekends mostly. During the week, I drink more water than the Atlantic and tend to skip everything but breakfast - I know, I know, it's bad and I'm too old to keep it up … but I'm working on it. My turn.

Keeping with your chosen theme - how the how did a nice Irish boy like you end up so addicted to ribs?"

McCoy chuckled as he reached to refill their glasses.

"I got hooked on barbeque when I was a kid - all those picnics at the park with my Father's buddies at the precinct - not to mention the annual Labor Day barbeque his union sponsored. They used to get the ribs from _Kenny's_ by the truck load. It's still the best rib joint around," he said looking at her thoughtfully. "I haven't thought of that place in years…maybe in the spring we'll take a drive up there and you can try them yourself."

Prescott smiled as she shifted closer to him. The avenues opened by his causal response not lost on either of them.

"Do you visit your home town often, Jack?"

"No fair," he countered playfully. "My turn. You never did tell me how you and Jake got to be such a pair. It's rare to have that kind of chemistry - although I've had many assistants over the years - the only relationship of mine that even comes close to yours and Jake's is the one between myself and Jamie Ross."

"I figured Jake would have filled you in on one of your fishing trips last summer," she mused. "When Jake came to the DA's office, AIDS was just coming to the forefront - lots of misinformation - lots of prejudice against gays. With my brother being a firefighter - dealing with lots of bloody victims - I learned early on what the real risks were, as well as the fallacies.

"I was the third senior ADA he had been assigned to. The others refused to work with him. When he walked through my door he expected he'd get more of the same. When he realized the worst he was going to get from me were demands for late night food runs and mindless banter, we developed a bond. The three of us were inseparable."

"The three of you? Jake, Sam, and yourself I assume?"

Prescott nodded waggling a finger.

"That just bought me two in a row, counselor - what's the story on the jacket?"

"Jacket?"

"Yeah - the vintage jacket?"

"'Vintage'," he repeated as he chuckled. "I've heard to referred to as a rag, an old thing…'vintage' is a first."

"I'm waiting," she pressed as she snuggled closer." Tell."

McCoy smiled down at her, pausing to kiss her leisurely on the lips. He continued to kiss her, as he ran a hand over her cheek.

"Well, there are those that will tell you it's part of the McCoy mystique," he joked. " Others will say they've seen that jacket since they met me twenty years ago. Clearly, I got soaked on my divorce settlement and can't afford to replace it."

Prescott released a burst of laughter as she shook her head.

"If that were true, you wouldn't have all those grey suits," he teased. "That dark one in the back of your closet still has the sales receipt from _The Men's Store _on it."

"What can I say? I like grey…as for the jacket? A gift from my daughter. Many years ago. When we were on the outs, wearing it made me feel closer to her."

Prescott looked up into the dark eyes, wanting to pursue the subject further, but knowing there was a more important question she wanted to ask before the scotch went to their heads and the moment for questions gave way to forfilling demands of a more physical nature. He could see the hesitation in her eyes and held her gaze, waiting.

"Last question, counselor?"

She bit back her impulse to ask him if he was sure ,before asking the carefully worded question.

"What are you willing to tell me about the abuse you lived though, Jack?"

McCoy pondered the question, impressed with its structure and the broadness it encompassed. The mark of a seasoned prosecutor was designing questions that were broad enough to illicit the maximum amount of information, with the narrowest focus.

He couldn't have posed the question better himself.

"I suppose I could choose a 'dare' - or give you a response like 'nothing'- but that would only leave more unanswered questions for you, wouldn't it?"

"Listen Jack, I have no intention-"

McCoy shook his head as he set his glass down, leaning back on the sofa so as to face her fully.

"I don't want to shut you out, Brooke. But, at the same time I don't want to give the past unnecessary power. You already know my father was a son of a bitch. I won't ask you to repeat the details you learned third hand last night. I will tell you, although the basement was the 'safe' place, it's a source of anxiety for me to this day. Being in one brings back too many hours of being confined. Safe but _not_ secure.

"If you want to know how bad it was…he was a brutal man. It's a miracle he didn't kill her," he said softly. "Of course, by the time we were big enough to do something about it, they were both in denial. Both of them suffering from the effects…what matters now is we survived it."

"Jack, I don't want you to have to relive it," she said quietly taking his hand.

He sighed a heavy sigh, remembering dumping the soup down the sink… the tightening of his gut….

"Brooke, I'm not always aware of it, but it's something that is with me everyday. The thing is, I know it and I deal with it. On my own terms. Which are not always spoken."

Prescott nodded.

"It must feel a bit crowded on that solitary road, with someone in your life. You told me once you didn't make promises anymore, Jack. I don't want-"

McCoy closed his eyes as he reached to embrace her.

"I won't say I've haven't been wary of looking too far down the round, Brooke. But, I will tell say having someone to consider the possibility of a future with - when that somebody has been you - is something I will never regret and I cherish deeply," he replied as he scanned her eyes. "That road you mentioned can feel a little crowded, but it can also feel a little lonely. It's a road we both know far too well."

Prescott fingered the collar that peeked out from under the dark green sweater.

"Maybe it's time to consider the road less traveled?"

"Isn't it my turn to ask the questions," he said softly as rubbed the back of her neck.

Prescott acknowledged the rebuff with a single nod.

"All right."

McCoy lifted her chin, looked into her eyes with a combination of tender amusement.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

Prescott flushed, as she felt her face light up. As McCoy leaned in, she put her hands on his shoulders, McCoy responding with a inquisitive gleam, eyebrows raised.

"I think it's time for a new game, "she said mischievously.

McCoy bit his lower lips, as he grinned at the challenge.

"Name it."

Prescott slipped her hands under the sweater, fingers beginning to unbutton his shirt as she replied.

"Show and tell."


	17. More Fun and Games

The sun had set long before they finishing making love.

"I used to worry - especially once I married - that biology might be destiny."

Prescott snuggled closer, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against her. Startled by the revelation, she knew immediately what his specific fear was.

"I'm not going to patronize you and say you're not him Jack. You know what you saw, what you felt," she said candidly.

"But I've seen enough domestic violence victims through the years to know if I didn't feel safe with you, I'd have left you long before now."

McCoy looked down at her unsurprised. He realized long before that, when it came to women he hoped to have more than a platonic relationship with, he chose women that were the polar opposite of his passive, fearful mother.

"I'm sure you know that was a factor in my leaving Diana. My fears, my concern…"

"In the short time I knew her, Diana Hawthorne struck me as someone who knew how to take care of herself."

McCoy shook his head as he laid back onto the pillows.

"Diana was an opportunist - she also had a need to please. More than a need - an obsession. Remember, she not only falsified evidence to help me have a better shot at promotion, she eventually married a man that was abusive. These qualities, were red flags to me."

Prescott reached for him, kissing him tenderly. Seeing the way he interacted with his daughter, his colleagues, as well as with her, Prescott knew in her heart this man - a passionate man on many levels - was not an abusive man. Unquestionably temperamental, stubborn, hot bloodied. Not abusive.

"You're saying the sole reason you left Diana was to protect her?"

McCoy thought a moment before replying. He thought about the relationship that had started out as professional, that became mentoring, then friendship, eventually becoming the affair that got him to the other side of his first divorce. He remembered the wreck he'd been after the marriage ended. How refreshing it had been to have a brilliant young beauty look at him with adoration, at a time when he'd grown accustomed to being looked at with little more than regret by his ex wife.

"Even without my family history, Diana and I looked at life very differently. We were both ambitious. Unfortunately, ambition came at too high a cost for Diana."

Prescott nodded, grinning.

"All right smiley, what insight do think you just gleaned, that has you so pleased with yourself?"

"Can't tell," she said much like a small child as she pressed a finger to her lips.

"Keeping secrets are we? Maybe it's time for me to choose a new game," he said as he rolled on top of her, slyly smiling at what he viewed as a challenge.

Prescott could feel her body respond to the feel of his skin against hers.

"Well," she replied hoarsely "I guess that's only fair - I did pick the last two games. Dare I ask…"

Her words suddenly stopped as McCoy began to kiss her neck, while he used his hands to draw her arms above her head.

"I've been told I'm quite good and kiss and tell."

"That comes as no surprise," she said breathlessly.

Although she had the good fortune to marry a man that had been a considerate and affectionate man, she still hadn't been prepared for the sexual delights Jack McCoy was so well versed in. The feel of his breath on her neck as he kissed her or a simple look from him across a crowded room were both enough to make her moist with anticipation of what would inevitably follow. As she felt him open her legs, she felt her hips instinctively move upward.

"You realize at this rate, we won't make it out of bed until spring thaw?"

"Is that a complaint," he inquired as his mouth moved towards her left breast. "Because, if it is, all you have to do is answer my question-"

"Whatquestion,"she moaned as she brought her legs up and wrapped them around his hips.

McCoy turned his attention away from the breast he'd been suckling, eyes wide.

"Hummmm… oh yes. What was it that made you so happy about the reasons Diana and I broke up?"

"If I tell you, you'll lose all respect for me," she said dramatically. "You'll think I'm just like all the rest of those women that you charmed into your bed."

McCoy laughed out loud, licking his lower lip thoughtfully.

"I could make a meal out of chewing that statement to bits. But instead, I'll just, say it comes down to trust. Either you have trust in me or you don't, Brooke."

Prescott sighed in defeat as she brought her arms down around his shoulders. She knew how artfully they had both avoided any lengthy discussion of what the future might hold for them. Choosing instead to enjoy the benefits of a long distance relationship - whirl wind weekends filled with romance and good times. Although she was as guilty as he, Prescott was wary to let McCoy know how alarming she had found Clint Renard's insinuations regarding the trail of broken relationships that littered the path to Jack McCoy's heart.

"Dirty of you to play the trust card, Jack. All right. I will admit I'm glad to know you don't seem to have a pattern of leaving relationships, solely to 'protect' your lover from your evil self. It's good to know whether our relationship stands or falls, it will be because of who we both are now - not ghosts from your past, coming between us."

McCoy considered her words carefully, a look of comprehension coming over his face.

"Renard," he said rubbing his eyes. "Son of a bitch had you thinking I was going to cut and run on you, didn't he? Well, let me put you mind at ease, I can guarantee you're the one that's going to dash out on me. In fact - I wager you'll up and leave me sooner than you think."

Prescott sat up looking at him quizzically.

"You sound awfully sure of yourself, Jack. Why is that?"

McCoy pointed to the alarm clock on the bedside table.

"As I recall, you have a commitment back in Islip - have you forgotten you have a sick friend waiting to be interrogated next?"

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"Well, is that the healthy after glow that comes only from mind blowing sex, I see?"

"Shut up," Prescott said good naturedly as she helped Jake Cohen take his seat at the dining room table. " I still think you should have let me bring your breakfast to you. No reason to risk pulling those stitches."

"Don't want to get atrophy by laying around and not using my legs," he quipped spreading apple sauce over the freshly made latkes..

"I hardly think that's a risk," she said as she returned from the adjoining kitchen, setting a plate beside his glass of orange juice. "You just didn't want to have to wait on me for seconds."

"You mean you made enough for seconds," Cohen replied gleefully as he bit into the potato pancake. "Amazing - first Gentile I've met that doesn't under cook the latkes. With your chutzpah and kosher culinary skills, there has to be Jewish blood in your family somewhere."

"You told Sam the same thing when he made you that batch of apple fritters the summer before his died. Face it Cohen - you don't have to be a Jewish mother to cook like one."

"Or give grief like one," he muttered with a smirk.

"Hey," she retorted as she added some jelly to the buttered slice of toast. "I said I'd keep my claws in - for now. What time are you expecting the Congressman anyway?"

"Around noon, weather permitting. I assume by said glow, Jack is upstairs?"

Prescott shook her head.

"He did come back with me last night - that heater of his really needs to be serviced-,"she said regretting the words as soon as they were out of her mouth.

"Who'd of thought," he said with a leer. "You know, that could really put a dent in Jack reputation, if word gets out-"

Cohen jumped, rubbing his arm after Prescott reached across the table.

"Some angel of mercy! That hurt!"

"It could really put a dent in _my_ reputation, if word got out I was soft enough to be called an 'angel of mercy'. Anyway, he came back. But he got an early start back to Manhattan - radio said the bridge was cleared and he didn't want to risk more snow. He'll be giving you a call once he gets an update from Lt. Van Buren on your case Monday."

Cohen nodded at the pair substituted banter for sharing the Sunday paper as they finished their breakfast. Both taking note of the update on Cohen's shooting in the Metro section of the _Islip Bulletin_.

"At least the _Bulletin _used a nice picture - that's the one from this years AIDS benefit, isn't it?"

Cohen nodded as he set the paper down.

"The _Times _picture is better - more commanding. I'm wearing the Armani suit.'

"The blue pins stripe?"

"Right - it's the picture of us after the verdict came down in the Miller triple homicide - I look downright Clarence Darrowish."

"Sweetheart, you could be wearing a paper bag and you'd still turn heads," she said picking up their empty plates. "Ready for seconds?"

"After a week of IV's and hospital food…oh yes."

"So are you ever going to fill me in, Jake? Or do I just have to draw my own conclusions about the kind of man that would leave you bleeding from a gunshot wound," she said briskly as she refilled his plate.

"You'd be even more suspicious," he said flatly.

"Really? That says a lot about over a decade of friendship, Cohen," she replied bluntly, returning to her seat.

She looked down at the table, suddenly reminded of her conversation with McCoy. Finally she looked up with the best crestfallen expression she could muster.

"It comes down to trust - either you have trust in me or you don't, Jake."

She looked away from his startled stare, moving back to the kitchen sink, where Cohen couldn't see her smile.

"You're not serious - you're my best friend. Of course I trust you," he said impatiently. "For God's sake Brooke…Fine. Come sit down if you want to hear it. I won't talk to the back of your head."

Prescott nodded, wiping the victorious grin from her face before sullenly joining him.

"Only if you really want to tell me," she said with a sigh.

Cohen rolled his eyes at her shaking his head.

"If I've said if once, I've said it a thousand times- knock it off. Sullenness is even more ill suited to you than piety. You know the man left at my insistence. You obviously have figured out he's not out of the closet."

"Obviously if he's running a group like Back to Basics."

"Exactly. It's not just his political career than could be destroyed by word getting out. Brooke, the man is trying to come to terms with his sexuality. Having him confront it with the media looking on could destroy him."

Prescott nodded, taking his hand.

"Jake, I understand that. Just seeing what you've gone through with your own family, as well as professionally…I like to think I've gained some amount of sensitivity. But, to leave your lover bleeding-"

"Darlin' I said I was in love with the man. I never said we'd been to bed," he amended gently.

A look of puzzlement came over Prescott's face.

"Jake, I assumed. I mean it was the logical conclusion, given how crazy you are about the guy. The weekend in Manhattan…the trip to Niagara Falls-"

"I know. There have been times we have been very close…Brooke if and when it happens, it will be his first time. As much as I want that for both of us, I'd never push it. I think you know that."

Prescott licked her lips slowly, pondering Cohen's words.

"I know you're a gentle man, Jake. I also know, in spite of the revolving door of relationships over the last decade, you've been lonely since you lost Kevin. You're sure William's heart is a pure as your own? Whether you two did the deed or not, this doesn't excuse what he did - or didn't do. You're sure he isn't playing you?"

"I've been a prosecutor long enough not to be naïve about people, Brooke. I won't say I didn't have my own suspicions at first," he said candidly. "But now? I have no doubts what so ever. You'll see for your self - give the man a chance Brooke. Spend the afternoon with us. See what you think after you meet the good Congressman yourself."


	18. The Congressman Makes An Appearance

Prescott glanced at the wall clock in her study as she pressed she clicked on 'send'. as hard as it had been to concentrate on her final draft of her report for Ed Danvers, she knew it had to be done. Finishing the last in her series of emails, she watched the screen for Danvers reply, as her mind drifted back to William Davenport's arrival at her doorstep.

Up close the man was even more attractive than he'd seemed when she had observed him behind the two way mirror at the 2 7. Davenport gave her an uncertain smile, self consciously brushing the comma of chestnut colored hair from his eyes with one hand, extending the other.

"You must be Mrs. Prescott - Jake's told me a lot about you. Enough to know you probably wish I was the one that was left on those steps - I know I wish it myself."

Prescott stepped back, his green eyes meeting her unwavering gaze.

"It's Brooke," she said, remembering Cohen's request. She shook his hand. "The important thing is that Jake's all right. Although, I would like to discuss your actions - or lack there of - from that night at a more opportune time."

"Meaning a time Jake won't be within ear shot," he said nodding. "I myself would welcome a chance to talk about that night with someone who-"

"Well now, there's a sight for sore eyes," Cohen said as he came down the stairs.

Prescott could see Davenport's face transform from anxious to joyful, as the two men met at the foot of the stairs, to embrace. She stepped back, watching as the two men kissed. Davenport's were eyes moist when they opened. He continued to run his hands lovingly through Cohen's dark hair as he stepped back.

"Are you sure you should be out of bed…that you're strong enough…"

"Doctor says everything's fine, Will. Just a few itches.. Should even be back to work soon. No more than in a few weeks. You know Docs, always wanting to be on the safe side. Probably afraid of a malpractice suit if they let me go back now. How was the drive up?"

The pair moved towards the sofa, Cohen motioning for Prescott to join them.

"Cold but clear. Looks like we've gotten the worst of the storm. What about your chest? Are you in pain?"

"A twinge every now and then. Nothing I can't handle. Brooke, come have a seat."

"I've got some work to do for Miami. Can I get either of you something before I go back up?"

"After that feast you made me this morning? I think I'm set for awhile - Will?"

"Thank you, no. I had a bite on my way up - figured I better not try the drive on an empty stomach - in case I got stuck."

Prescott nodded as she reached for the stair railing.

"Well, if either of you change you mind, I left a platter in the fridge. Jake you know where everything is. The bar downstairs is fully stocked."

As she rounded the landing, out of Cohen's sight, she had stopped and listened. The two continued to get reacquainted - she could hear Davenport begin to sob - as he berated himself for leaving Cohen's side that night…

_Draft is well done, as always. No further changes needed. Team misses you. Goes double for me. Will give you a call when I return east next week. Will be your way on business later in the month. Maybe we can meet for a drink?_

_Hope all is well with your ADA. Read in the paper Jack McCoy is prosecuting personally. Give him my regards - he's a fighter - the case couldn't be in better hands._

_Your personal items from the hotel are on their way - should arrive via Fed Ex by the end of the day._

_Regards, _

_Ed_

Prescott snapped to attention as the bell like tone notified her of Danvers response. Putting her thoughts a side, she typed her response, finishing as she heard a tap on the door.

"Got some time to spare?"

Prescott moved the keyboard aside and removed the black rimed glasses.

"Where's Jake?"

"A sleep on the sofa. After he tired of backgammon, we played a few games of darts. Wore himself out trying to convince me how fine he is," Davenport said as he sat across from her. "Mrs. Prescott - be straight with me - how bad-"

"Another inch and he'd of died," she said flatly. "As it is, it's a miracle he didn't bleed to death that night."

Prescott felt a pang of guilt as the color drained from his face.

"Listen, Congressman, it's obvious you care for Jake. I know how convincing he can be, but-"

"I never should have left him. It was selfish, reckless…"

"Actions that hardly speak of deep devotion."

Davenport stared at her incredulously.

"Jake is everything to me," he said quietly. "This nightmare made me realize how precious he is to me. My God, standing downstairs…kissing him…do you realize that's the first time I've done that in front of anyone?"

"And why exactly is that Congressman," she demanded, hoping to provoke him. "Jake Cohen is a respected member of the bar, yet he's reduced to sneaking around in a some backdoor romance like a Times Square whore? For what? For the sake of your career?"

"You don't have to tell me. I know. Jake deserves better."

"Talk is cheap, Congressman," she continued, unmoved. "If you really believe that, maybe it's time for you to put Jake before your own ambition - starting with ending your association with an organization that would sooner lynch him as look at him. Next, maybe you could think about who would have a big enough grudge against you to be taking shots at you?"

"I have thought of nothing else," he said defensively." I told the police everything I know. I gave them-"

"A list of political crack pots is just the tip of the iceberg - what about personal threats? Jilted girlfriends-"

Davenport's eyes registered his puzzlement, slowly his expression hardened.

"How would you know about that list? Unless… You've been talking to someone from the Manhattan DA's office. Why would they discuss an on going investigation…ah. Of course. Jake mentioned you're seeing Jack McCoy. Now that he's DA, obviously-"

"If you want to go down that road - fine - but wait until after you answer my question," she snapped, her concern for her lover momentarily outweighed by her desire to press Davenport for the truth. "Our office as been working with Manhattan - we've gone through Jake's cases for the passed five years. No one that would have a motive is out on the street. As second chair, he usually is spared most of the heat, anyway. The shooter most likely was coming after you."

Davenport considered Prescott's words, his face relaxing as he grudgingly nodded.

"I swear, the names of anyone that has threatened me or has any type of grudge, are on the list I gave Detective Green."

Prescott stared down at the desk considering her next comment.

"Look. I didn't mean to jump down your throat," she finally replied. "You'd be within your rights to call my supervisor or the Suffolk DA himself. But McCoy and his people-"

Davenport waved a dismissive hand.

"I have no desire to create problems for you or Jack McCoy. You both were there for Jake when I wasn't. I owe you two a debt of gratitude for that." He paused as his eyes began to moisten. "Brooke don't you see…I love him, too."

Prescott smiled as she nodded, her hand reaching across the desk, as she sighed.

"That wouldn't surprise me - Jake is a man that is easy to love. Maybe if we go through the events of that night together we can figure out what's been overlooked."

"I'd be willing to try."

"Good. Let's start when Jake left his wallet on the bar and you two-"

"When Jake what? No, that's wrong. I saw Jake pay the tab with cash. He always puts his wallet in his coat pocket immediately after - so he has it to pay the cabby-"

"But you had your car?"

"Yes, but he always takes a cab to meet me - we never leave in the same car. We part at the club and meet at my place. He was protecting me. He didn't want to risk anyone thinking we were a couple and-"

"But the night watchman - Esquerdo - the reason he was out there was the wallet. The bartender found Jake's wallet on the bar and sent Esquerdo to return it."

Davenport shook his head.

"I saw Jake put that wallet in his coat," Davenport said firmly. "I remember, because once he paid the tab, he stuck the wallet in the pocket, right before another man bumped into him. Almost knocked him over."

Prescott held her chin in her hands as she chewed on her lower lip.

"This changes everything," she said as she picked up the receiver. "Jack and Lt. Van Buren need to hear this - now."


	19. Back to the Scene of the Crime

Van Buren was looked up from reviewing the case file on the Esquerdo shooting as Ed Green took a seatacross the desk from her.

"Cassidy tried to tell me something wasn't right about Esquerdo," she said handing the file to Green. "It's in her initial report. Esquerdo was in debt to the Massacci crime family. House mortgaged to the hilt to try to cover he's gambling debts, wife about to leave him…"

"Come on Lieu. We had a ADA that nearly died, a Congressman with a hidden agenda. It was logical to assume-"

Van Buren shook her head as Green set the file on the desk.

"Ed one of the first things I told Cassady was to watch and learn. _Not_ to assume. Now she's transferred out and won't even get the credit she deserves in this case. It's my own fault. I never gave that girl a chance…"

Green opened his mouth to contradict her, but nothing came out. As much as he wanted to reassure his commanding officer, he knew Van Buren was right. He knew one of the reasons Van Buren had told Cassady to focus on the night watchman, was to keep her out of trouble. Van Buren had deliberately focused Green's partner on routine follow up while Green did the actual investigating.

Van Buren looked up at him, nodding at Green's discomfort.

"All right, Ed. Your new partner won't be arriving until he wraps up loose ends in his old precinct. You can go it alone and reinterview the staff at The Townhouse or I can pull-"

Green shook his head as he stood.

"I'm on it Lieu."

The main bar at The Townhouse was usually all but deserted, ten thirty on a Monday morning. When Green arrived, the bartender was reviewing a liquor delivery with the manager and a distributor. Upon seeing Green in the door way the manager smiled, remembered Green from his previous visit and motioned to him to take a seat at the piano bar on the other side of the room.

Green watched as the three men reviewed information on a clip board. Momentarily, the portly man with a wisp of grey in his dark brown hair, shook the distributor's hand. After having the bartender fill a mug, the manager took it - along with a small service of condiments from the bar, and joined Green.

"I apologize detective. A member is having a gala in one of the banquet rooms tonight - had to see to that order. Please," he said moving the mug towards Green." Have you learned anything new about the attack on Mr. Cohen?"

Green stirred in some crème as he brought the manager up to speed, ending his summary with a request to speak to the members of the staff that were working the night of the shooting.

The manager nodded, moving closer to Green.

"Anything we can do to help. Mr. Cohen is not only a valued patron, he's valued here as a fine human being. Alll of afre very fond of him. Lawrence was on the main bar that night - he's behind the bar now. The rest of the staff, I can call and have them come in, unless you'd prefer addresses?"

Green took nodded, pleased and pleasantly surprised by the manager's excessive willingness to help.

"Addresses would be very helpful, thank you. Anything you can tell me about Javier's situation would help, as well. We hear he's got some mighty big debts owed to some mighty big people."

"I'm afraid what you hear is true. We had an incident about a month ago. A...what is the term? We had a…'enforcer'…or he looked like an enforcer, show up asking for Javier. He hadn't arrived for his shift yet. This man was frightening detective - huge, muscular- very much like Arnold Swartzenagger in his youth…"

"What happened?"

"Well, we sent him on his way. Had a few of our bouncers walk him to the door. He sat on the bench across the street until we called the local precinct. They sent officers to deal with him."

Green set his coffee down, his eyes wide.

"So there's a report. Any chance the security cameras might have picked him up?"

"The camera's run twenty four hours - with the amount of threats we get we don't want to take any chances. I can notify the security company and have them pull the film."

"That would be great - which firm do you have working for you?"

"We've been using Fontana and Jeffries. When we found out it was run by two formerNYPD officers, we felt very secure in our choice."


	20. Reflections and Retribution

Jack McCoy handed each of the men a glass of scotch as he joined them on the leather sofa on his office.

"I wondered when I was going to hear from one of you guys," Fontana said setting the glass down. "I was with Detective Cassady when she viewed the tape showing Manny Stefano leaving The Townhouse. She told me she'd be phoning Van Buren, I figured-" Joe Fontana paused puzzled by the knowing look that passed between the two other men. "What?"

"Ah, well the Lieu and Nina had… issues," Green said diplomatically.

"But the important thing is, we know Stefano is one of the family's main enforcers," McCoy added. "No sign of him the night of the shooting in these tapes?"

The other men shook there heads.

"Not that night. I have a few more employees to talk to before I go home tonight," Green replied. "But the Lieu is bringing Stefano in tomorrow. Figures it won't hurt to shake the tree and see falls down."

"Makes sense. Now your two vict's -," Fontana continued. "Cohen and the Congressman - remember a guy of Stefano's built running into Cohen before they left the bar. I'd bet he lifted Cohen's wallet and slipped it on the bar himself."

"When the bartender came over to pick up the money Cohen left he'd see the wallet and try to catch its owner."

McCoy nodded impatiently.

"It sounds like some sort of trick to get the night watchman out front where he'd be a target - but how could Stefano be sure the bartender wouldn't just go after Cohen himself?"

"Jack, that club had been jumping up until just before Cohen left," Green interjected. "The bartender was still getting caught up on restocking and cleaning up. Company policy is the bartender never leaves the bar, except for scheduled breaks."

"How hard would it be for someone to find this out - to know it would be Esquerdo that would go after a customer," McCoy inquired.

"Not hard," Fontana said as he picked up the file from the coffee table. "May I? A member might know, employee may have mentioned it….Ed, have you talked to the piano player - Bower?"

"Haven't been able to hook up yet. Left messages, went by his place once today. Looks like I'll have to catch him at the club."

McCoy frowned as he took the file and scanned the page Fontana had been reading.

"Jonathan Bower - I can't believe we missed this," he sighed.

"Well known player," asked Green.

"One of the best," Fontana confirmed. "A regular entertainer at Bobby Massacci's club in Atlantic city. The first mob front club he opened."

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Jake Cohen and Anita Van Buren exchanged knowing glances, after each took note of the double take, Jack McCoy belatedly tried to conceal.

Van Buren introduced the five men: McCoy, Cutter, Cohen, Davenport, and Stefano's lawyer. McCoy had been immediately struck by the resemblance the young defense attorney had to his father, who had also made a career out of representing individuals associated with organized crime.

"Dad said to give you his best," the young man said as he shook McCoy's hand." And to congratulate you on becoming DA."

"Thank you Mark. You know if you ever want to break with family tradition and work on the right side of the aisle-"

Mark Kopell gave him a sly grin that reminded McCoy of his former friend.

"Appreciate the offer, Jack. But don't hold your breath."

"Gentlemen, looks like it's time," Van Buren said as Green opened the door.

"You realize the line up is just a formality,"Cutter asked Kopell as they walked. "With Johanathan Bower's statement against your client, whether Mr. Cohen or the Congressman ID him, gives us Mr. Stefano dead to rites."

Kopell shrugged his shoulders.

"I have to follow my clients instructions, whether I agree with them or not,"he said frankly."Maybe after the line up he'll be ready to talk about a deal."

As the group moved towards the room McCoy knew so well, he tapped Cohen on the sleeve, the two men falling behind the others.

"Looks like you convinced the Congressman to face his demons."

Cohen shook his head slightly as he raised his eyebrows.

"Not at all Jack. My motto is live and let live - and poke and prod - the same can't be said of that vixen you occasionally share a bed with."

McCoy sighed.

"And what has my vixen done this time."

Cohen shrugged his shoulders.

"Neither of them is saying, but I know Miss Slice and Dice well enough to know there's a reason Will has decided to leave his seat at the end of the term."

"Did he decide that before or after he announced his sexual preference in that article-"

"The article that just happened to be written by the_ Times_ writer Brooke went to Stanford with? Who knows," Cohen said stopping at the door way a leaning towards McCoy. "What I do know is, she can't hide from me forever. She to return her calls sometime."

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It was nearly nine o'clock when she heard the tap on her office door. Motioning for him to enter, Prescott continued her telephone conversation.

"…so they both are sure it was Stefano that bumped into Jake?…and defensive counsel is going for a deal?…That's great news. So, Jake and Will won't…yes, I talked to Davenport, why?...Jake'll get over it - all I did was point Will in Ellen's direction-…"

Clint Renard listened as he sat across from her, reaching to pick up the new edition to the organized clutter, on her Prescott's desk. He stared down at the photo of Prescott and McCoy taken in a Miami restaurant a few weeks before.

"Clint? Something I can do for you?"

Renard returned the photgraph to the desk and met her inquiring gaze.

"Wondered if you'd heard anything from Cohen? Last I heard, he was planning to return next week, but I haven't heard anything from his doctor."

"Actually, Jake and I have been missing each others calls this week," she said vaguely, as she set the file in front of her into the already full tray on the corner of the desk.

"He_ is_ still at your place?"

"Actually, no. He has been staying on Long Island. Went home with a close friend Monday morning."

"I thought you two were as close as it got?"

Prescott smiled thoughtfully.

"He's in good hands, Clint. As for the case, that was Jack. Looks like the line up went well. Now they have something to negotiate with this enforcer - Stefano - with. With any luck, they'll have a name to put on the indictment for the murder one count, as well as the attempted murder before the end of business tomorrow."

"Well, that's good news. Have to admit, it sounds like McCoy and his people are really coming through on this."

"Well, maybe I better mark the calendar," she said leaning back in her chair. "That's the first time I can recall you saying something positive about the New York county DA - someone slip some nice pills into your brandy?"

Renard sighed.

"A weak moment. Enjoy it while you can. Just received the final decree," he said as he stood. "I'm officially a free man."

Prescott stared up at him, wanting to comfort her former flame, but knowing to do so would be an invitation misunderstanding neither of them needed to deal with.

"Look Clint," she said as he opened the door." I know your marriage didn't start out under the best of circumstances, but you love your little girl. I know you gave it your best shot. Don't beat yourself up thinking otherwise."

Renard nodded stopping again to look at her.

"Listen Brooke, I know I've been a dirty dog the last few…ah hell. The last year? Who am I kidding - ever since Sam died and I took advantage-"

Prescott cut his words off.

"I was there too, Clint. You were trying to be a friend - I had no business leaning on you when you had your own troubles."

"You're too kind, Brooke. We both know you never would have been with me if you hadn't been a mess because of Sam, because of-"

"It's been years, Clint. Don't beat yourself up over something that was over long ago."

"That whole thing with Miami," he began regretfully. "I really do wish you well, Brooke. If anyone can hold on to McCoy, it's going to be you. Just remember - _he's _the lucky one. Don't let _him_ forget that."

Prescott stared at the closed door, knowing Renard was dead wrong. Knowing who indeed was the lucky one in her romance with Jack McCoy. She picked up the picture, her index finger lightly running over the lips of the man in the photograph. Wondering where indeed, their relationship would end up.

Startled by the sound of the phone on her desk, she glanced at the caller ID. After the caller left his message she immediately replayed it and pondered it ominous words.

"You know who this is and you know why I'm calling. I know you think you did a good thing, Brooke, but you failed to stop and ask yourself: What happens next? What are the consequences…and before you come up with some romantic prattle about how happy the two of us are - I will give you that. We are happy - but for how long and at what cost? .. I would prefer we do this face to face before I return to the office, but if you force me I WILL do this AT the office the first chance I see you - whether in the courtroom or the elevator. You know I will, so find you guts and call me."


	21. Twenty One Questions

Prescott scanned the dining room of the fabled Manhattan eatery, looking for McCoy and his party. When the matre de approached, her she gave him the District Attorney's name and he led her across the elegant room. She self consciously ran a hand over the deep purple cocktail dress, knowing she had dressed in hurry. She had recieved McCoy's call at her office at three. If she had any hope of getting to Manhattan by eight she knew she'd have to make a dash home,throw on something suitable, and do her hair and make up in the bathroom on the train. That in it self had been an adventure not soon to be forgotten..

The men stood as she approached the table, Cohen and Davenport looking very dapper in tuxedo's. The other men had clearly come from work. McCoy, Cutter, and Green in dark suits. The women at the table had clearly opted for the same choice Prescott had made when they had been invited to dine at The Twenty One Club. Nina Cassady looked unusually sophisticated in a elegant black crepe gown as she spoke with Connie Rubirosa, who was dressed in an equally flatterring burgundy cocktail dress.

"Glad to see the train didn't get delayed," McCoy said as he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. "You look amazing."

"Thanks. No snow on the tracks tonight. March first is tomorrow. I think we've seen our last storm for a while."

McCoy pressed his lips against her ear whispering to her.

"Oh we may not be getting more snow, but there _is_ a storm of sorts brewing," he said cocking his head at Cohen, who eyed the empty seat beside him.

Prescott looked up questioningly at McCoy, who simply shrugged. When McCoy had invited her into the city to celebrate the plea agreement that would bring to the men responsible for Cohen's shooting to justice, Prescott had assumed it would be just the two of them. Seeing Cohen give the DA the slightest of nods, she realized been set up.

"I told you we were celebrating the plea -"

"Twenty One, for eight? A bit pricy even for the DA, Jack."

"Not my idea."

"But the reservation was under your name?"

McCoy gave her a sly smile.

"Only because Jake didn't want to alert the media by using the Congressman's name. This really is William and Jake's party."

Prescott nodded as she softly reminded him what is often said about payback, before moving to take her set beside Jake Cohen.

"I'm surprised that Lt. Van Buren and Joe aren't here, as well," she said to Cohen as he pulled the chair out for her.

"I did invite them," he assured her. "Sadly both of them had prior commitments."

"Jake and I plan to send Joe a box of cigars and the Lieutenant a bottle of _Chanel_ to show our appreciation for everything they've done," Davenport said from across the table.

"May I have the waiter bring you something from the bar," the mater de inquired.

After ordering a glass of wine, Prescott avoided Cohen's penetrating stare looking instead, across the table at Ed Green.

"I've been in court all day, so one of you needs to fill me in. Last I heard, Jack and Mike were going to offer Stefano's a deal for the name of the shooter and the driver. I assume he went for it?"

"Took less than an hour. Once Cutter gave me the names, we had the two in custody before noon. Two of Massacci's regular guys. Wouldn't be a good idea to go into details here, but once they realized we had a witness ready to testify, they got rid of that mob lawyer Kopell-"Green stopped short, his face suddenly flush. "Hey Jack, no offense. I know-"

McCoy shook his head as he set his glass down.

"Why be sorry? Sad to say, your right, that's exactly what Mark Kopell is. Which is why when those two took a deal to roll on Massacci for reduced time, they asked for new counsel," McCoy concluded .

"So all of it…none of it had to do with Jake or Will," Prescott mused.

Ed Green shook his head as he raised his glass.

"It was all about Esquerdo's gambling debts and making an example out of him. If we had just listened to this lady, we would have known it a hell of a lot sooner. To you, Nina. One of the best damn detectives to grace the 2 7 ."

As the others focused on the young detective, Cohen pressed his lips to Prescott's ear.

"You and I have unfinished business," he said with finality that reminded her of when Uma Thruman uttered those same words - just before killing her former lover in _Kill Bill_.

"Do you really want to do this _now_," she asked quietly. "In front of your guests?"

Cohen's response was interrupted by the waiter who returned with Prescott's wine and began taking orders for dinner. Once orders were completed, Cohen turned his attention back to Prescott, only to have Davenport reach for his hand.

"Jake, I hope you don't plan on keeping Brooke all to yourself this evening," he said with mock indignation as he winked at Prescott. "I still haven't had a chance to thank her for-"

"For interfering in a decision that was-," Cohen began.

"No," Davenport said evenly." For asking the right questions. If Brooke hadn't asked me about the night of the shooting, you and I probably never would have figured out what had happened. By the time you woke up in the hospital the CSI's had given the hospital your wallet - you had no idea this Esquerdo even had it, much less how he got it."

"That's one for you, Brooke," Cohen reluctantly admitted. Absentmindedly, he drummed his fingers on the table, in time to the music coming from the other end of the dining room.

"Detective Cassady," McCoy injected, taking pity on the woman who sat across from him." I'm sure everyone would like to hear about your new assignment."

As the evening moved from dinner to dessert to after dinner drinks and coffee, the music caught the ear of the majority of diners. When Mike Cutter offered his arm to a reluctant Connie Rubirosa, Prescott grinned at McCoy. Green and Cassady soon followed the two prosecutors to the dance floor.

Raising a hand to silence Davenport, who had been filling McCoy in on the in and outs of campaign financing - a subject brought on by the mention of McCoy possibly seeking a second term as DA. McCoy acknowledged the grin with his eyebrows raised.

"Seeing Mike and Connie out there must make you feel a little sentimental Jack," she teased.

"Not in the least," he said as he pushed his chair back. "There's only _one_ assistant district attorney I'm interested in having in my arms tonight."

Before McCoy coudl take a step, Cohen stood and took Prescott by the elbow.

"Sorry Jack - you'll excuse us."

Davenport's jaw dropped as Cohen led a apprehensive Prescott to the dance floor.

"I've tried to tell Jake, my decision really had nothing to do with Brooke. But he just isn't hearing me," Davenport said with a sigh. He shook his head in disbelief as McCoy returned to his chair." You're not going to save her from the rath of Jake?"

McCoy chuckled as he picked up the half empty glass of scotch.

"Those two need to work things out. Besides, Brooke's an ADA. She's used to dishing it out - she can take whatever Jake has to say."

"You two know each other well," Davenport mused. "Jake tells me he hasn't seen Brooke this happy in years."

"I'm glad he feels that way. Brooke has brought a lot of joy to my life, as well."

Davenport nodded, shifting his gaze from the dance floor to McCoy.

"I suppose it won't be long before you're registering for china and stemware at Macy's-"

McCoy set his glass down harder than he intended, while forcing the scotch back down into his throat.

"Excuse me?"


	22. Scared Straight

As they reached the dance floor, the band finished playing _Moonlight Serenade_. The pair politely applauded as the dance floor began to clear, the maestro announcing their next selection would be a request made for a tango.

Prescott shrugged her shoulders and started to move away.

"Guess we're out of luck. You know it's got to be either the two step or a waltz-"

"Hardly," he said as he abruptly reached a hand out, sharply pulling her to his chest.

" I am _master_ of the tango. All you have to do it follow my lead. Which would be good practice for you," he continued as he pulled her to one side, dipping her inches from the marble floor. "Following, not leading, that is. Kind of like listening and not talking."

Prescott stared up at him, stifling a reply that would cause a sailor to blush. Cohen brought her back up, his eyes never leaving hers, as they continued to dance.

"You had no business telling him he wasn't treating me well."

"You weren't being treated well - you both knew it. I'm just the one who had the guts to say it."

"I'm a big boy Brooke - I send felons to prison, I drink myself into oblivion on occasion, and I've slept with more men than you've even thought of sleeping with," he said bluntly. "I've never interfered with your personal life the way you have mine."

"Oh really," Prescott said with genuine surprise."I seem to remember a little set up at Flynn's about nine months ago. You remember? You got Jack and I down there under false pretenses and then left us-"

"That was a harmless opportunity for you two get over yourselves and discover you wanted each other. This was guilting a man out of the closet and into my bed. What the hell were you thinking - are you_ crazy_," he hissed as he pushed her away, pulling her back with the next beat."Do you know the pressure - the responsibility - that puts on me? Not to mention Will?"

Prescott looked at him in confusion, primarily due to his statement. Also, due to her efforts to keep from mis-stepping and stepping on his toes.

"For God sakes Jake! _You_ told me you love the man!"

"_You _told me you love Jack," he countered." Are you ready to pack up _your_ life and become the _third_ Mrs. Jack McCoy?"

Prescott looked as if she'd been slapped. Taken off guard, she forgot to grip Cohen's shoulders as he flung her into another dip - this time sending her completely to the floor. Cohen looked down at her stunned and concerned at first. Then slowly, a smile played on his lips as he offered her his hand.

Silently, she accepted his hand. The pair stood motionless as she slowly nodded in understanding. Prescott pointed to the door leading to the terrace and Cohen offered her his arm as they went through the double doors leading to the terrace.

"Here. You'll catch your death," Cohen asked as put his jacket over her shoulders.

"I thought that was the plan, out on the dance floor," she said disparagingly.

Cohen carefuly rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Death by tango? That would be a new one for one of Jack's ADA's to try to get by a jury. You went down pretty hard. Are you all right?"

Prescott nodded as she stood by the railing, looking out at the lights of the city.

"I'm better than I deserve,"she said more to herself than Cohen

Cohen's expression softened as he lifted her chin. He looked down at her the hint of a smile on his lips.

"Really Brooke, 'a Times Square whore'? A bit over the top, even for you."

"Jake, I'm sorry," she said quietly. "Truly, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, sorry. When you said William was the one and I found out he left you…I just couldn't stand by and watch some guy from The Hampton's make you his dirty little secret."

Cohen stook his head as he took her hand.

"I should have known you'd see it like that. Brooke, I adore the man and the fact he is willing to change his life in order to be with me…I find that extraordinary. As well as unexpected …and honestly, pretty damn scary."

"Yeah, I get the scary part," she said softly.


	23. Migrane Madness

The cab ride home was an exercise in distracted silence. McCoy and Prescott pondering the references made earlier in the evening to a future both felt being thrust upon them by forces somehow, beyond their control.

McCoy thought about his former wives. The first a woman he married for love.When he was young and cocky. A woman that had given him a beautiful daughter. Nothing seemed impossible back then, including a lasting marriage. The second, a woman he admired and respected. A woman who had helped him find his way out of the abyss he called life without Claire Kincaid. Both women good, kind, loving women...

Women who, ultimately, opted out of life as Mrs. Jack McCoy.

Would the third time really be the charm…or just the end of any hope of retirement on a livable pension, McCoy wondered with more a little cynicism. Another precious chance for some happiness, cut short by another fateful walk down the aisle?

_Come on Jack_, he told himself, stealing a glance at Prescott. _Brooke doesn't need or want half of the third you have left of the McCoy millions… she hasn't even brought up moving in, much less marriage…when you propose to her, ten will get you twenty she'll want a pre-nup before…what the hell? **When **you propose…_

"Where'd you go, Jack?"

"Humm," he murmured as he looked in to her eyes. Eyes that suddenly looked as uncertain as he felt. "Must have started to dose. Long day, feel a migrane coming on."

Prescott nodded, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Yeah, maybe I should have the cabby take me to the station and let you call it a night."

"Don't be silly - it's after midnight. I'll take a pill when we get to my place. Although I don't think I'll be much good to you once I'm off my feet. Maybe Saturday we can spent some quality time together?

_888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888_

_When he looked at the bedside clock he did a double take. McCoy flipped on the light on the night table. The clock read just passed eight p.m. It took him a few minutes to remember where he was and why. In the back of his mind, he recalled a discussion, several hours before._

_It was the first day in months that the roads were clear, as well as the sky. Both he and Prescott were unusually restless. When he opted for a ride out of the city on the BMW, Prescott had been more than willing to get on the first road they saw and follow just to see where they'd end up.As they sped down the interstate, neither seemed to be in a hurry to stop. Before he knew it, they were on their way to Atlantic City. The song "_Highway to Hell_" in the back of his mind the entire time._

_Before either of them knew it, they were checking into a hotel - the mafia front owned by the Massacci crime family, no less._

_McCoy glanced at the clock, noticing the note Prescott had left, asking him to meet her at the blackjack table when he awoke._

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_McCoy stopped short when he saw her, breaking into an amused grin. His 'vixen', as Cohen had referred to Prescott, was winning big and three sheets to the wind._

_"Jack," she exclaimed as she pulled him to her, surprising him with the kind of kiss usually reserved for the bed." Come play with me!"_

_McCoy chuckled as he caught a glimspe of the pile of chips in front of her._

_"Looks to me like you've done quite well, all on your own."_

_Prescott tilted her head as she looked up at him with a look of satisfaction on her face._

_"I've always known how to take care of myself, when I had to. The question is, do I have to anymore?"_

_"Miss, are you in." inquired the dealer._

_Prescott shook her head as she gathered the chips into her bag._

_"Exactly how much have you had to drink and when did you eat last," he asked avoiding her unsettling question._

_"Humm….not sure and this morning before we got on the road."_

_McCoy nodded, as he gently took her arm, guiding her towards the first restaurant in sight._

_The only way he could convince his lover to put something in her stomach, was to agree to play yet another of Prescott's games…this time a drinking game._

_By the time dinner was over, Prescott was dividing the last of the Dewar's between their glasses._

_"I thought you were a tequila drinker, Brooke," he said as he watched her raise her glass._

_"I am. But since you my love, favor scotch, I didn't want to mix my liquor," she said with a giggle as she leaned in to kiss him passionately._

_"All right, woman," he said playfully as he stared down in to her eyes." You've successfully liquored me up. Now that you have me at your mercy - what exactly do you intend to do with me?"_

_Prescott grinned wickedly at him, as she caressed his cheek._

_"Why, Jack. You sound so suspess…suspss.. you don't sound like you trust me,"the dangerous gleam in her wide blue eyes never wavering._

_"Brooke I love you. I adore you. I worship you…but I'll admit. I do have trust issues," he said as they both began to laugh._

_"Well, maybe it's time we explore that. But first. First I have a question to ask you," she said with intensity that made McCoy blanch._

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_The next thing that blinded his consciousness, was the searing pain radiating from the center of his forehead._

_"Oh God," he groaned as he tried to stand. McCoy abruptly stopped, deciding instead to carefully sit up. He gingerly placed his legs back on the bed. "Brooke, I think I need some aspirin."_

_Getting no response, he carefully looked at the other side of the bed, finding it empty. He called out again, his head throbbing. Realizing he was alone in the hotel room, he made a second attempt to get out of bed, this time turning the light on the bedside table on._

_Even the metallic 'tap' of his ring on the metal lamp made him jump. He paused, confused. He realized he was using his left - not his right hand- not the hand he ususally wore his ring on. Why would there be…_

_McCoy stared at the plain gold band on the ring finger of his left hand. Slowly he shook his head, using the night table to ease himself up, knocking some paper to the floor._

_He swore, as he slowly bent down to retrieve the paper. Noting the signatures and the official seal, he stared at it, forcing his eyes to focus…._

_"OH GOD!!!"_

_McCoy couldn't take his eyes off the paper, as he slumped to the floor stunned. His ears not registering anything except the vague awareness that his personal sound track had finally chosen a new selection. From "_Highway to Hell_" to "_Nice Day for a White Wedding".


	24. Life's Little Gambles

Prescott stared down at her lover, unsure what to make of his ramblings. She picked up the bottle of migrane medication that had fallen off the bedside table. When McCoy began flaying his arms, he had inadvertantly sent the bottle, his watch, and other assorted items across the room. Prescott read the warning label, shaking her head. She had seen McCoy react to the medication before. Ususally the drug made him lethargic, difficult to wake up...this was something entirely different.

Alarmed by her lovers obvious distress, Prescott finally laid her hands on his tee-shirt. She held his shoulder firmly, as she began shaking him.

"Jack, wake up!..JACK,"she said with more force than she had meant to. "Honey, it's only a dream...open your eyes..."

McCoy looked at her with eyes wide with terror and confusion. Instinctively he pulled back, looking around the room frantically.

"Oh God... Brooke," he said with a sigh, as he wiped the sweat from his brow. He brought his left hand up to his face, trying to not give himself away, as he looked at his bare ring finger. Relaxing somewhat, he laid back as he realized he was in his own bed.

Prescott sat beside him, running a hand through his damp hair.

"Jack, you had me worried as hell," she said quietly."You seemed positively frantic.What were you dreaming about, anyway?"

McCoy flushed with embarrasssment - as well as shameless relief - as he took her hands in his. As his heart rate slowed, he stared at their hands, knowing the only course of action was to comfront what each of them had avoided for so long.

"Brooke," he asked quietly as heshifted his gaze to her face."Are you anxious to remarry?"

"Wh-why," she stammered, completely taken aback.

"Listen - you know I love you? I _hope_ you know... I treasure our time together. I would never want you to think this has been causal for me… just about sex…I mean it's not just sex. I just think we.."

Prescott moved her mouth, stopping when nothing came out. Unsure if he was trying to let her down easy - wondering if his next words would be 'Brooke, it hasn't been just sex, but I think we need a break' - then an even more unsettling possibilty came to mind...

McCoy began to smile at her discomfort as she willed herself to speak.

"I never thought that Jack. That it's just sex - I mean - come on. I'm almost forty six and you're hardly a teenager, yourself. The hormones still rage, just in different ways. As for remarriage? Now? I-I-ah … ,"she paused noting his eyes where lowered in amusement.

Unwilling to allow him to enjoy himself at her expense, she lifted his chin and met his gaze.

"There's not an offer on the table is there," she asked innocently. She smiled triumphantly, when his eyes widened. "Relax, Jack. Just checking."

"It's not that I haven't thought about it," he said seriously. "I'm just not sure if I'm ready to try to make a go of a third marriage. I'm not sure how things will when my term is up. Until I make a decision about running, it seems premature for either of us to think about pulling up stakes - if you'd even be willing to consider giving up your home - your career and moving to Manhattan?"

Prescott nodded.

"Jack, I couldn't have said it better myself," she said obviously relieved. "I would never ask you to leave Manhattan. That would be like asking you to resign from the DA's office. You need to be here, especially now that you are DA. As for me, I'm not saying I wouldn't want a life with you. But if I came to Manhattan, there's no way I could work in the same office with you. Even working in one of the other boroughs would be sticky, as your girlfriend…or ...whatever."

McCoy put his arm around her, kissing her on the forehead.

"I understand that. I know it wasn't a comfortable place for any of the women I've been involved with, to be sleeping with the boss. I don't want to see you in that position, as well."

"So, we leave things as they are," she asked feeling like a weight had been lifted, yet at the same time, aware of a unexplainable pang of regret.

McCoy's face reflected the same dilemma. She watched as he seemed to be having an unspoken debate with himself. Finally, he left the bed and went to his dresser. He returned a few minutes later with a small black velvet box in his hand.

"The way things are has worked well, so far. A wiser man would leave well enough alone," he said taking her hand and pressing the box into it, with a shy smile. "Too bad I've never been one to leave well enough alone."

Prescott carefully opened the box, her eyes softening as she looked down at a ring she had admired several times on their many visits to the antique district during her time in Miami.

"I saw you try it on and went back for it before I went to the airport, that last visit in January," McCoy explained."I had planned to give it you Valentine's Day, but things got so hectic last month, we never did get around to celebrating."

Prescott wiped her eyes as she leaned forward to kiss him.

"Should I attribute this to your usual thoughtfulness - or is there more into it,"she asked unsure as to what she hoped to hear.

McCoy took the ring out of the box and slipped it on her right ring finger.

"I may not be ready to get married but, I am committed to you. If I were to marry again, I have no doubt, you would be the woman I'd ask," he said quietly.

Prescott stared at the ring for several minutes, surprised and touched by the gesture.

"So, when Cohen interrogations me - and you know he will - I should refer to this as?"

McCoy flushed slightly suddenly embarrassed by his bout of awkwardness.

"Would I sound too much like an adolescent to use the words 'promise ring'? A promise that one day, when we're both ready, we'll sit down and plan a future together?"

"Oh Jack," she whispered as she ran a hand through his disheveled hair. She was fascinated not only the simple solution to something that had seemed so complex, but fastinated as well, by the man who still had enough boyish charm in him to have thought of the solution.

McCoy kissed her lightly on the forehead before he picked his robe off of the floor and stood.

"Now then, may be we should give some thought about what to do with the weekend before it gets away from us?"

Prescott leaned back on the bed, resting her head on the headboard, as she looked down at her hand.

"You know, it has been awhile since you've taken me on your bike."

"Yeah it has," he ageed as he opened the closet door. "Any particular place you'd like to go?"

"Actually, there is - I can't remember the last time I've been to Atlantic City - how about we head up there and play a little blackjack?"


End file.
